


Cisco's Wonderful Life of Doom

by ChristineQuizMachine



Series: Life of Doom [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Asshole Leonard Snart, Cisco and Thawne bone but it’s not graphic, Doomworld, Doomworld Cisco Ramon is a precious cinnamon roll who’s starting to realize that his life is a lie, Emotional Abuse, Established Relationship, Gaslighting, Love Bombing, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mick is getting the feeling that this whole Doomworld thing was a bad idea, Non-Explicit Sex, Not-so-oblivious Cisco, Possessive Thawne, Snart still really likes to push people’s buttons (consequences be damned), Some of the tagged characters don’t appear until later chapters, Technically an AU because I’m bad at remembering dates., Thawne is a bad guy (and this time he really is the villain), mostly they’re just embarrassingly mushy dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristineQuizMachine/pseuds/ChristineQuizMachine
Summary: In Doomworld, Cisco Ramon has a great life. He’s head of R&D at S.T.A.R. Labs and is engaged to the brilliant and handsome Eobard Thawne. But the more Cisco thinks about himself, his history, and his relationships, the less things add up. Throw some disturbing dreams into the mix, and he’s got to admit that either he’s losing his mind…or something isn’t right.





	1. Terrific Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story takes place a few days after the end of “Thawne’s Wondeful Life of Doom.” If you haven’t read that previous installment, I’d strongly recommend checking it out real quick before proceeding any further. Don’t worry—it’s a one-shot, and pretty short compared to the behemoth that THIS thing turned into.
> 
> Also, I totally screwed up and forgot that Legion!Snart was originally from 2014. That means that, canonically, Thawne probably recruited him right after the events of “Going Rogue,” and the gun he has in Doomworld is actually the original model from that episode. Please ignore this fact and pretend that Legion!Snart was from 2015; for our purposes, Thawne picked him up after the events of “Rogue Time.” 
> 
> A caveat: this story depicts an emotionally abusive relationship. There’s no physical or sexual violence, but some bad stuff still goes down, especially in later chapters. If you’re sensitive to that kind of thing, please take a good look at the tags and evaluate whether or not you should really be reading this. Be kind to yourself!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So perfect…my brilliant, gorgeous boy…”
> 
> How many people had ever called Cisco “gorgeous?” He was pretty sure he could count the number on one hand. And no one except for Eobard had ever called him “perfect.” No one else had ever _thought_ he was perfect. He was always too awkward, too nerdy, too girly _or_ too boyish for anyone—regardless of their orientation—to find him truly appealing. But Eobard loved him. Eobard adored him. Eobard couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

On an intellectual level, Cisco Ramon knew that pouring three packets of sugar into his coffee was a tad excessive. On an emotional level, though, he knew that desperate times called for desperate measures.

It had been an exciting (read: chaotic) few days in his department, and, perhaps as a direct result, he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Pair that with the fact that Eobard Thawne, S.T.A.R. Labs CEO and Cisco’s fiancé, had been keeping odd hours, and it was no wonder that his energy levels were so low that morning.

The cherry on the shit sundae was that the coffee maker for the R&D Department had stopped working the day before, and—despite the fact that there were at least 10 highly qualified engineers in that section of the building—no one had taken the time to fix it. So Cisco had been reduced to “stealing” caffeinated beverages from the IT Department’s breakroom. He hadn’t considered until that morning that they might have a different machine (and coffee selection) than R&D, but they did, and their stuff was complete garbage.

Cisco yawned and took a swig of coffee. As he made a face at the terrible taste, he vowed to talk to Eobard about getting those poor people better equipment. Hell, Cisco would buy them new stuff out of his own pocket and call it an act of humanitarian aid.

“Rough night?”

Cisco’s head whipped in the direction of the entrance to his office. Leonard Snart was currently leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a bemused expression on his face.

“Oh, hi, Snart,” Cisco replied, wondering how he missed the other man getting so close to him. Maybe the fatigue was affecting him worse than he thought. “And…no, not really. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Any particular reason why?” Snart asked, walking into the room without waiting for an invitation. His voice was completely casual, and so was his body language as he flopped down in one of the chairs in front of Cisco’s desk.

“Vivid dreams, mostly. I think I need to stop watching old episodes of _The Outer Limits_ before I go to bed,” Cisco said, wrinkling up his nose. “And being busy with work stuff hasn’t helped, either.”

“Yes, I’m sure Thawne keeps you _very_ busy,” Snart replied. One corner of his mouth turned upward.

Cisco felt heat rise in his cheeks. Okay, Snart was…Snart was gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that Cisco found it difficult to maintain eye contact with him for more than a few second at a time. There was just something super _intense_ about the man’s gaze. Between those steely blue eyes, his habit of smirking instead of actually smiling, and the general vibe that he was just a little bit dangerous, Snart often made Cisco feel like a bubbleheaded teenager.

It didn’t help that, a few days prior, Eobard had asserted that Snart was almost definitely attracted to Cisco; Eobard told him as much after catching Snart in Cisco’s office and observing the man’s behavior from a distance. But the accusation had caught Cisco off-guard, because he really hadn’t noticed. Okay, so, there _had_ been a few things that, in retrospect, were a little eyebrow-raising…but Cisco had just chalked it up to his own wishful thinking, because—even though he was happy with Eobard—who wouldn’t be flattered by a little extra attention? And Hartley Rathaway had made suggestive comments in the past, but _he_ was coming at it from the perspective of someone who was absolutely enamored with Leonard Snart and took the mere existence of other potential suitors as a personal insult.

The bottom line was that, while Eobard swore that Snart had a “thing” for Cisco, Cisco was fairly sure that his fiancé was just making a big deal out of nothing. Especially since, besides a little playful innuendo, Snart was never anything but friendly.

So Cisco chose to react as if Snart was teasing him. “Oh, yeah—that’s the downside to dating a scientist that no one ever talks about. You wind up having to be an engineering genius in the streets and a freak in the sheets. _Mi vida loca_.” He glanced around, suddenly realizing that Mick Rory, Snart’s near-constant companion, was curiously absent. “Where’s Mick today?”

“At home,” Snart replied vaguely, as if Cisco had any idea where those two lived. “He doesn’t particularly enjoy dragging his ass all the way over here, so I only bring him along when Thawne wants to meet with us.”

Confused, Cisco raised his eyebrows. “Wait, so you didn’t come by the labs to see Eobard?”

Snart shook his head. “Nope. He isn’t even here right now, according to one of the receptionists.”

“He…he must have stepped out to do some work off-site,” Cisco said, shrugging. If Cisco had to guess, he’d assume that Eobard had gone to check on the fusion reactor—that had been his pet project for the last month. Still, Eobard usually took the time to shoot Cisco a quick text before he left the premises, and it felt a little odd that he hadn’t done that today.

“Maybe. Or maybe he just went to lunch. I don’t really care,” Snart replied flippantly. “Like I said: I’m not here to see him.”

**_“Look, when I walked into your office earlier, it was very obvious to me that Snart was coming onto you.”_** Cisco tried not to think about Eobard’s accusation. “So…why’d you come over here?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Snart said.

Cisco waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, Cisco said, “Should…should I know why that’s important?”

“You said that the mods for my gun would be ready on Monday. Which was yesterday. I’m not the genius that you are, but I’m pretty sure I know how calendars work.”

Cisco groaned in embarrassment. “Ah, jeez! You’re right, I _did_ say that. I’m sorry.”

“So, they’re not done yet?”

“No. I started to rewrite the code on Saturday afternoon, and I normally don’t even come into the Labs on Saturday, but I ended up having to put out about a dozen fires in the department while I was here. And I mean that both figuratively _and_ literally; someone’s prototype for the new STARphone battery exploded on their desk.” Speaking of phones, just then, Cisco heard his own phone buzz with a text message. He opted to ignore it. “I was so exhausted from Saturday that I just crashed at home on Sunday. And then Monday was spent dealing with some fallout from Saturday, so—”

Snart put up his hands. “Slow down, Cisco. I’m not upset. I just wanted to check in with you.”

“Okay,” Cisco sighed. “Still, I _am_ sorry. I promise I’ll get it done ASAP.”

“Really, it’s fine. No rush.” He paused momentarily and then added, “Though, if you really want to make it up to me, there _is_ something you can do.”

“What is it?” Cisco asked, and he picked up his phone. Since Snart genuinely didn’t seem bothered by the situation, Cisco figured that it would be okay to take his eyes off of him for a second. He half-expected for the device to show a new text from Eobard, but it was actually a text from Cisco’s mom, asking him if he was coming to his brother’s birthday party this weekend and if he was, to please not bring—

“You can let me buy you dinner.”

Cisco froze. There was no way Snart had said what Cisco thought he’d said. Snart must have misspoke, because he couldn’t possibly mean…or maybe Cisco had misunderstood. Perhaps both. It was just a communication breakdown.

Cisco looked at him. “I think you’ve got that backwards,” he said, finding his voice. “I’m the one who screwed up, so _I_ should be buying _you_ dinner.”

“No, I don’t have it backwards. In fact…I’ve decided to be _forward_ ,” Snart said, and he smiled. “Let me take you out.”

Cisco swallowed. “Take me ‘out’? Like…like on a date?”

“Well, I don’t mean with a sniper rifle from 100 yards away,” Snart said, rolling his eyes in a good-natured way—like he thought that Cisco was being silly on purpose. “But how about it?”

The temperature in the room suddenly shot up about 100 degrees. Had the battery in Cisco’s phone exploded, too? Had Snart and Mick swapped guns for the day? Or were the maintenance workers just screwing with the thermostat? Then again, none of those scenarios would explain why the crew-neck of Cisco’s shirt also suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. And if Snart noticed any change in their environment, he didn’t say anything; he just continued to sit there and gaze at Cisco with—longing? Was that _longing_ in his eyes?

_Holy shit,_ Cisco thought. This was really happening. And if he’d been single, he probably would have given into his baser instincts and leaped over his desk into Snart’s lap.

But he _wasn’t_ single. Cisco held fast to that fact before he opened his mouth again. “I…I don’t think Eobard would be okay with that.” He swallowed. “I mean, he and I are engaged. You know that, right?”

Snart shrugged. “Yeah, you’re _engaged_. You’re not married yet. So why not have some extra fun before your tax filing status changes?”

“That…no, I…if Eobard found out, he’d be devastated.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets. He _wouldn’t_ find out. It’d just be between us.” He leaned in, entering Cisco’s personal space, and Cisco’s breath caught in his throat. This whole thing was almost more than he could bear.

Almost.

“No,” Cisco said, his voice more resolute than he felt. “I don’t _want_ to go out with you. And if you can’t act professional around me, then you probably shouldn’t come around here anymore.”

Snart seemed to take a second to process Cisco’s rejection. For a moment, anxiety made Cisco’s skin itch, and he wished that he’d thought to call security to escort Snart out of his office instead of trying to handle the situation on his own.

But then Snart leaned back in his chair so abruptly that Cisco jumped a bit. “Well, alright.”

Cisco’s chest still felt tight. “‘Alright?’”

“If you really aren’t attracted to me, and you’re not just turning me down because of Eobard, then there’s really nothing I can do, is there?” Snart said casually.

“That’s…right,” Cisco said, relief coursing through him. “Uh, thanks for being so cool about this?”

“Cisco, I’m not by any means a gentleman, but even I can take ‘no’ for an answer without losing my temper.”

“Okay, great,” Cisco replied.

“It’s not ‘great’ so much as it’s a minimum baseline for human decency,” Snart said, rolling his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.” He cleared his throat, then assumed his somewhat arrogant expression once more. “You _will_ let me know if you change your mind, right?”

It seemed a bit odd for Cisco to think about ‘changing his mind’ when it came to his relationship. Even though they’d been dating for more than a year and had been engaged (and cohabitating) for months, Cisco still half-expected to suddenly wake up in a hospital bed and learn that the whole thing had been a coma fantasy. In his mind, that would have been a far more realistic turn of events than Eobard Thawne— _the_ Eobard Thawne—actually falling for Cisco the way Cisco had fallen for him the moment he first started working at S.T.A.R. Labs. He had absolutely no desire to jeopardize the most amazing thing that had ever happened in his otherwise lonely life.

“I love Eobard,” Cisco said firmly.

Snart exhaled. “Of course you do,” he said with an unreadable look on his face.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Cisco said. Snart’s tone had made him bristle, and he folded his arms across his chest in a way that he hoped made him look a bit tougher.

“Nothing,” Snart said, shaking his head. “Forget about it.”

Cisco glared at him. “I get it, okay? I _know_ how things look. Eobard’s old enough to be my dad, and he owns S.T.A.R. Labs, and he has a closet full of suits that each cost more than the car I drove all throughout high school. A ton of people think that I’m just some gold digger who’s looking for an easy meal ticket, but I’m not. I’m _not_.”

“Once again: calm down, Cisco,” Snart said, and he actually sounded a bit annoyed. “I meant, ‘Of course you’re heels-over-head in love with Eobard; it’s just my luck to be interested in someone who’s not available.’ I tend to do that a lot.”

“Oh,” Cisco said, and he instantly felt stupid. In all of their interactions, Snart had never once given the impression that he thought that Cisco was dating Eobard for the wrong reasons. Cisco had just gotten so used to people disapproving of the differences in their ages and bank accounts that he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Sorry, I…sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Snart said.

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Cisco’s phone buzzed again to remind him that he had unopened text messages; he opted to ignore the notification for now.

“You know,” Cisco said, “Hartley Rathaway really likes you.”

“I’m aware,” Snart said, like he wasn’t sure why Cisco was bringing that up.

“So…I mean…if you asked _him_ out, I’m sure he’d say yes.”

“I don’t want to ask _him_ out. He’s not my type. After all, I doubt that Hartley’s resourceful enough to put together a heat gun _and_ a cold gun in a single night.”

“And, what, you think I could?”

“I’ve seen you do it before.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t make those guns in a single night. And you weren’t there when I built them.”

Snart opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped. Closed his lips. Let out a small laugh and looked at Cisco like he had just realized that he’d almost spilled a secret. “Oh, I guess you don’t remember…” he gestured vaguely with two fingers, “…that.”

“Remember _what_?” Cisco was starting to feel uncomfortable again.

“You don’t remember building the guns. But I guess it doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ve got some other business to attend to today, so I really should get going. Do you have a new ETA for the update?”

_A week past never, you would-be homewrecker,_ Cisco thought, though he resisted the urge to say it out loud. “I don’t know. I’ll work on it when I can. Didn’t you say ‘no rush?’”

“I did.” He blinked slowly, a smug smile on his face. “And Cisco?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to take everything so seriously. Eobard’s the high-strung one in your relationship. I’d hate for you to pick up on his bad habits.”

“So, I shouldn’t take _you_ too seriously?” Cisco asked, shuffling a pile of papers around on his desk to make it look like he had work to do. Which, by-the-way, he totally did. Why was he wasting so much time on Snart, anyway?

(Because he was a sucker for handsome, older men with pretty eyes, that’s why. God, why did all of Eobard’s closest associates have to be just his type? Malcom Meryln, Damien Darhk, Leonard Snart, and Mick Rory—when those guys all got together, they looked a bit like a heartthrob boy band on their 20-year reunion tour…)

Snart’s smile turned just a little more wolfish. Instinctively, Cisco crossed his legs, and he was grateful that the structure of his desk blocked this action from Snart’s view. “Fair enough.” Snart stood up and smoothed out some of the wrinkles in his sweater. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Normally, Cisco walked his guests to the door. This time, though, he just mumbled, “Yeah, see you later,” and kept his head down until Snart had disappeared from sight.

***

Cisco was the only engineer in his department who had both an office _and_ a workroom. Hartley had a two-in-one, and then there was a “community” workroom where all of the other engineers hung their hats. The separation hadn’t been his idea; it was the preferred setup of his predecessor as department head, and Cisco had inherited it once Arthur Light had retired. The office was where Cisco met up with investors, did paperwork, and spoke to employees one-on-one—he always got a slight thrill over being able to say, “Let’s step into my office for a minute.” The workroom, meanwhile, was where he actually tinkered with tech and got his hands dirty.

He’d insisted from the beginning that he didn’t really _need_ a private workshop. Unlike Hartley, he actually didn’t have a problem sharing his work environment with people, and he didn’t want for the folks working under him to find him unapproachable or intimidating. In fact, he often made the conscious decision to take his stuff and set up shop in the room shared by the rest of the R&D engineers so that he could socialize while he worked, and he’d even made a habit of leaving the door to his office propped open when he was in there by himself. But there _were_ times—especially when he was on a deadline, or working late, or on the verge of a breakthrough—when it was nice to have his very own space. In Cisco’s workshop, he knew where everything went, could talk (or curse) out loud while troubleshooting tech, and had full control over the music selection.

It was also a place where he could go when he was hoping not to be disturbed, even if the person bothering him had good intentions. And, that afternoon, he was frowning so much that he almost certainly would have been asked, “Are you okay?” at least a dozen times by concerned co-workers.

After Snart had left his office, Cisco had actually given his mother’s texts about Dante’s birthday party his full attention.  Her message had made him groan out loud:

_Are you coming to Dante’s party this weekend? If you are, please don’t bring Edward._

_*Eobard._

_It’s not because we disapprove of your lifestyle. It just wouldn’t be fair to bring him and take attention away from Dante at his own party._

The more he thought about her texts, the more annoyed he got. First of all, he was 99% sure that his parents actually _did_ “disapprove of his lifestyle;” the fact that they felt the need to volunteer how _not bothered_ they were almost every time he spoke to them seemed pretty damning. Granted, he wasn’t sure whether they were more troubled by the fact that he was involved with a man or the fact that he was involved with someone who was nearly 20 years his senior. Whenever he tried to ask what they thought of Eobard, they simple wrung their hands and said vaguely that the life Cisco was living was “just not what they’d envisioned for [him].”

Second of all…it wasn’t Cisco’s fault that Eobard was relatively famous and thus sometimes drew people’s gazes. He didn’t get mobbed by paparazzi every time he walked down the street, of course. But it also wasn’t uncommon for him to be recognized by complete strangers when he and Cisco were out and about, restaurants and clubs were always happy to accommodate them, and candid shots (or, in Cisco’s mind, “stalker photos”) of the pair on dates, at galas, or on shopping trips often wound up posted to Instagram or other blogs. Eobard never sought out attention in these contexts; he even wore glasses and a hat when he was trying to keep a low profile. But attention often still managed to find him.

It seemed unfair, then, that Cisco’s fiancé was to be excluded from a major Ramon family gathering. If anything, he should be bringing Eobard around as often as possible, just so that his relatives could get used to having a celebrity in their midst! And besides, it wasn’t like everyone would flock to Eobard and ignore Dante completely for the duration of the evening. Could his mother really not stand to make Cisco’s brother share the spotlight for a few minutes?

_No, of course she can’t,_ Cisco thought. _This is Dante that we’re talking about, here. Acknowledging that the world doesn’t revolve around him is total blasphemy._ Hell, if Dante ever found a girl to settle down with, Cisco’s family would probably demand that Cisco not bring Eobard as his Plus One to the wedding. They couldn’t have people looking at Cisco’s husband—or, even worse, _Cisco himself_ —on Dante’s big day, after all!

He had already been on the fence about whether or not he was going to go to Dante’s party. Now, he was seriously leaning towards saying, _“Sorry, I’m washing my hair that night.”_ Or just not responding at all. Yes, not responding seemed like a good idea, at least for the time being. He’d think it over again when he wasn’t so irate.

With that matter settled, he unwrapped a lollipop, turned on his pop-punk playlist, and threw himself into his work. But as he pored over the blueprints du jour (a STARphone-compatible, robotic vacuum cleaner that could be outfitted with a cosmetic “skin” to make it look like various cute animals or cartoon characters; the concept seemed a bit silly, but if they could get the MSRP low enough, it was practically _guaranteed_ to be a hit with millennials), his mind started to wander. And, despite his best efforts, his thoughts settled on the conversation he’d had with Leonard Snart.

His overall impression of the whole situation could be summarized with: _Dude, what the hell?_ Snart honestly seemed like the kind of guy who would respond to someone knowingly making a pass at his significant other by breaking that person’s jaw—or worse. Why, then, did he think it was okay to ask Cisco on a date? He hadn’t even framed it as wanting them to hang out as friends; he’d been very blatant about his true intentions.

Also, what was the deal with him bringing up his and Mick’s guns and then acting weird when Cisco contradicted him? That had been especially ridiculous, because _of course_ Cisco remembered making them. It had been…

It had been…

_Wait, when WAS it?_ Cisco thought, frowning. It had to have been sometime in the last year, because he hadn’t actually started seeing Snart and Mick on a regular basis until after he and Eobard had begun dating. And it was probably sometime in the last 6 months, because there was no way he could have built the guns without the tools and resources he had access to as head of R&D. Or maybe he’d built them after he’d moved in with Eobard, using the home workshop his fiancé had set up for him as a surprise? But that last one couldn’t be right, because he was pretty sure that Snart and Mick had owned the guns for longer than 3 months. Or _had_ they?

Absentmindedly, he gripped the stick of his lollipop in his fingers. Maybe the key to figuring out when he’d made the guns was to reflect on _why_ he’d made them. But…now that he really considered it, he didn’t know the answer to _that_ question, either. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for rich folks with more money than technical know-how to commission S.T.A.R. Labs teams for personal projects, but he certainly didn’t remember being assigned _that_ particular order. And what would have possessed Snart and Mick to ask for something so specific, anyway?

He was concentrating so hard that, when he suddenly heard a loud _BANG_ echo through the building, it startled him badly enough that he nearly toppled out of his chair. He probably would have choked on his lollipop, too, if he hadn’t been holding onto it at just the right moment.

It took Cisco second to process that (1) the ruckus had come from the community workroom, and (2) a sudden blast of noise very rarely boded well for his coworkers. But as soon as he considered those details, any and all thoughts he’d had about the cold and heat guns vanished from his mind. He put down his blueprints, grabbed a first aid kit and a fire extinguisher, and went to investigate. If Bill Carlisle had built _another_ exploding battery, Cisco was going to take him off the STARphone project…

***

The rest of the day passed without incident, and 6:45 p.m. found Cisco taking the express elevator down to the cortex. Though he and Eobard nearly always came to the Labs together, lately, it had been a complete crapshoot as to whether or not they’d leave at the same time. Cisco had found, though, that actually checking on him in-person (as opposed to just sending him a “Let’s go!” text message) was often the key to getting Eobard home at a decent hour.

He stepped off the elevator, waved at Eobard’s assistant (the man’s first name was Bob, but Cisco could never remember if his last name was Goodwin or Godwin), and strode into Eobard’s private office. Unsurprisingly, when he heard Cisco approaching, Eobard looked up from his work and smiled, but didn’t leave his chair. “Oh, hello. Bob didn’t tell me I had a visitor.”

“Uh, for real? Since when do I have to wait for him to buzz me through?” Cisco said, pretending to be scandalized.

“Good point. You ready to head out?” Eobard asked. Cisco had his jacket on and his bag over his shoulder, so the question was more of a formality than anything else.

“Yeah. Are you?” Cisco replied, glancing at the neat stacks of documents that adorned Eobard’s desk. He had no idea how the other man always stayed so organized. Hartley had said on multiple occasions that Cisco’s workspaces looked like they belonged to a child. Or a monkey.

“I think I’ve still got another hour of simulations to run,” Eobard said. “Don’t feel like you need to stay, though. I can meet you at home later. Have Mark drive you; I’ll call for a different car.”

Cisco sighed. “I was hoping we could go home together tonight.”

“Cisco…” Eobard started, sounding sympathetic.

Cisco put his hands up. “I know, I know. You’re super busy now, but it’s a temporary situation, and we’ll go on a trip when things aren’t so hectic.”

“ _And_ we’ll start talking about a wedding date,” Eobard said, turning back to his computer screen.

It wasn’t fair bringing up the wedding like that; he _knew_ that even thinking about their upcoming nuptials made Cisco a bit giddy. How could he be upset with Eobard when he could feel the weight of his engagement ring (gold-plated tungsten with a carbon-fiber inlay; it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie and Cisco adored it) on his left hand? Advantage: Thawne.

“Okay, Mr. Workaholic,” Cisco said. “I’ll head home.” Then, putting a note of melancholy in his voice, he added, “To our empty house. Where there’s no fennec fox waiting to keep me company. Hope I don’t die of loneliness or boredom.”

“We’re not getting a fennec fox, Cisco. And we’re not getting _any_ kind of pet until after our trip.”

Impulsively, Cisco stuck his tongue out, even though Eobard couldn’t see it. Fine. He’d work the pet angle a little more later. As he was turning to walk away, he said, “If one hour turns into two, make sure you eat dinner. I don’t want the janitors finding you passed out at your desk.”

“Of course. I’ll remember.”

**_“Oh, I guess you don’t remember…that_ ** **.”** Snart’s drawl echoed in Cisco’s head, and he stopped in mid-stride. The guns. Even though it had been hours, he still couldn’t remember when—or, more pressingly, _why_ —he’d made them. Snart did, obviously. So why didn’t Cisco?

He turned slowly back to Eobard. “Hey, honey?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but…do you remember why I built the cold gun?”

Eobard stopped, his fingers poised over his keyboard. “What?”

“The cold gun. The one Leonard Snart has. I just realized today that I can’t remember why I made it. I must have had a reason, right?”

Eobard sat motionless for another second. Then, he seemed to snap out of his trance, shrugging his shoulders and going back to typing. “I assume that he asked you to make it for him. That and the heat gun that Mick Rory uses. You can’t resist a challenge, so you obliged.” He looked at Cisco. “Wasn’t that it?”

Cisco frowned. When he strained his brain, there was a tiny part of him that thought he remembered hearing Snart say that he wanted _“Guns, heat and cold to be precise.”_ But, bizarrely, he could also hear himself responding to Snart’s request with, _“There’s no way I’m making weapons for you. Never again!”_

Never _again_? Had he made something for Snart in the past that the man had gone on to misuse? And if he had, then why’d Cisco give in and make the guns, anyway? Maybe because Snart, Mick, and Eobard were friends? But surely Eobard would have backed Cisco up if he’d been absolutely, 100% opposed to doing something?

“That reminds me…Cisco, did Snart come by your office again today?” Eobard asked. He looked just the slightest bit concerned.

“Oh…uh, yeah, he did,” Cisco said, and he suddenly felt a surge of guilt roll through him for not bringing it up himself. It was almost like he’d been caught in a lie. “He wanted to talk to me about the cold gun, since the upgrades weren’t done on Monday like I said they’d be.”

“I see. Was Snart at all inappropriate with you?”

“Why do you ask? And how did you know about his visit, anyway? It was while you weren’t here.”

Eobard raised an eyebrow. “Shawna saw him come in and told him that he’d just missed me. But Snart apparently said that he wasn’t here to see me and walked off in R&D’s general direction. And I ask because he was inappropriate with you the last time he was here. So, was the cold gun _all_ you two talked about, or do I have to give him a blanket ban on that entire side of the building?”

Cisco half-wished that Shawna had just kept her mouth shut. The receptionist was just doing her job, of course, but she had complicated things somewhat. “He…he did ask about the cold gun,” Cisco started. “Um…he also asked if I was interested in spending time with him outside of the labs—”

Eobard’s eyes narrowed.

“—but I told him that I wasn’t, and he backed off immediately,” Cisco added quickly. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem in the future.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Eobard said, sounding skeptical.

He shifted his weight, still feeling uncomfortable. “I mean, I get the idea that he just likes to rile people up, whether that means flirting with them or insulting them. He said I shouldn’t take him seriously, so…I don’t know…” his voice trailed off, and he shrugged. He actually wasn’t sure where he’d been going with that thought, and he didn’t want Eobard to think he was being stupid. Or naïve.

Eobard continued to gaze at him, an appraising expression on his face. Finally, he said, “I tell you all the time how stunning and irresistible you are. Maybe someday, you’ll actually start to believe it?” The next thing Cisco knew, Eobard was shutting down his computer and grabbing his bag.

“What’s going on?”

Eobard smiled; it was the same look of total adoration that always made Cisco weak in the knees. “On second thought, you’re right—it _is_ time to go home. Let’s get out of here, pick up some dinner, and go to bed early.”

“Oh…okay!” Cisco said. That sudden reversal seemed a bit odd, but he wasn’t about to argue with the result. Especially when he knew exactly what _“go to bed early”_ was code for.

***

Eobard was middle-aged, so why did he have the stamina of a teenager?

It flew in the face of everything Cisco had ever known about sex—and, honestly, human biology. Eobard could climax and then be ready for Round 2 or 3 within a few short minutes. Most nights, Cisco could barely keep up with him, and sometimes, he didn’t even bother trying.

“You know, some men over the age of 40 can’t get it up at all,” Cisco said while a pillow was slipped under his hips. He was tired and thoroughly tapped-out, but Eobard had kissed his thigh and asked for _“One more, please, baby?”_ And because he’d asked so nicely, Cisco had agreed, but only on the condition that Eobard did all the work this time.

(Emphasis on “this time.” Cisco had already blown him while they were taking an after-dinner shower together and ridden him cowboy-style—to completion!—just prior to Eobard’s request. He was _not_ one to “lie back and think of England,” but he also knew his limits.)

Eobard let out a throaty laugh. As he maneuvered Cisco’s legs around his middle, he quipped, “Some men over the age of 40 don’t have a sexy, younger lover in their bed. You bring it out in me.”

“Okay. But if I find out that you’ve been secretly popping Viagra like breath mints, you’re gonna be in trouble.”

Eobard laughed again. “I’ll keep that in mind.” And then he pushed his way in, not stopping until he bottomed out and Cisco was arching his back and moaning. “You bring it out in me,” he repeated, though his voice had become wistful.

Cisco exhaled, letting himself fall back on the mattress. They had a king-sized bed with pure silk sheets, and there were few things in life he enjoyed more than spreading out and writhing all over the miles of soft, cool fabric. Eobard, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy _watching_ Cisco squirm, especially when Cisco was underneath him and wriggling at the nigh-overwhelming sensation of getting fucked twice in one evening.

It bordered on painful, especially when Eobard began pounding into him, but that was how Cisco liked it. How they _both_ liked it.

“So perfect…my brilliant, gorgeous boy…”

How many people had ever called Cisco “gorgeous?” He was pretty sure he could count the number on one hand. And no one except for Eobard had ever called him “perfect.” No one else had ever _thought_ he was perfect. He was always too awkward, too nerdy, too girly _or_ too boyish for anyone—regardless of their orientation—to find him truly appealing. But Eobard loved him. Eobard adored him. Eobard couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Damned if he could explain it. After all, he was still seriously entertaining the idea that this could all be a coma fantasy.

Eobard quickened his pace and held Cisco’s hips in a bruising grip. Cisco made a little whining noise in response, tightening his legs around Eobard’s waist and reaching for his face with one hand. Eobard released his hold so he could lean forward and decrease the gap between them. With Cisco’s hand on his jaw, he asked, “Do you want to come again?”

Cisco shook his head; he wasn’t even hard, and oversensitivity was currently winning out over lust. “Nah, I’m good. Just…you know. Do whatcha gotta do.”

“Okay. I’m almost there, baby.” He caught Cisco’s lower lip in something that was too soft to be a bite but too toothy to be a kiss.

“Love you,” Cisco sighed, letting his eyes close. “ _Love you._ ”

“I love you more,” Eobard said against his mouth. And, sure enough, he finished quickly afterward, groaning in satisfaction as he did so. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

_The sex, or me?_ Cisco wondered to himself. He decided it didn’t really matter.

They’d bathed before coming to bed, but Eobard still insisted on cleaning them both up with a wet washcloth before they could get too sluggish in the post-coital glow. Once that was taken care of, it was time for snuggles and pillow talk. Eobard wrapped an arm around Cisco’s torso and pulled him close. They were spooning, and Cisco practically melted at the warm comfort of his lover’s embrace.

“Who do you belong to, Cisco Ramon?” Eobard murmured.

“You,” Cisco replied as he felt a little shiver roll down his spine.

“Me and…?” Eobard prompted.

“No, _just_ you.”

“Correct.”

“And what about you?” Cisco asked, rolling over and planting a kiss on his collarbone. “Who do _you_ belong to, Eobard Thawne?”

“You. Only you. As long as I have you by my side, I can take on the world. Nothing matters to me as much as you do.”

There was silence in their room for a second. Then, Cisco said, “Shit, I didn’t realize we were getting poetic.”

Eobard laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, no, it’s cool. Gimme 10 minutes, and I’ll come up with something better than single syllables. Maybe a limerick about how much I love giving you blowjobs?” He scrunched up his face like he was searching for ideas. “Hmmm…‘Eobard’ rhymes with ‘hard,’ and ‘Eo’ rhymes with ‘blow.’ This shouldn’t be _too_ difficult.”

“Completely ridiculous. Go to sleep.”

“You shouldn’t stifle my creativity. But fine—I guess your poem can wait until tomorrow,” Cisco said, rolling over again. He liked being the little spoon; it was probably his favorite way to sleep. And soon, he drifted off, savoring the feeling of Eobard’s fingers gently massaging his scalp.

***

**_“Forgive me…But to me, you've been dead for centuries.”_ **

Cisco woke up screaming.

No, scratch that—the screaming was in his head. In fact, screaming out loud would have actually been an improvement on his situation, because when he woke up, he couldn’t breathe.

**A hand. There was a hand inside his chest, and it was crushing his heart. Eobard had—**

Cisco clawed at his sternum, trying to get free.  If he couldn’t do that, he was going to die. He forced himself to sit up in bed so he’d have a fighting chance.

But there wasn’t a hand in his chest; his fingernails found only his own skin. Nothing was actually crushing his heart. And then suddenly, like an overstretched rubber band snapping back into shape, he _could_ breathe, and he sucked in air so frantically that a high-pitched gasp escaped from his throat.

The noise was apparently enough to rouse Eobard from his sleep, because he sat up, too, blinking his eyes blearily in the darkness. “Cisco?” he murmured, looking in his fiancé’s direction.

Cisco tried to respond, but before he could even string a sentence together, the fear roaring through him curdled into nausea, and it took every ounce of his self-control to force his jaws closed. Instead of answering Eobard, he tumbled out of bed and sprinted towards the attached master bathroom, barely managing to get to the water closet before he crashed to his knees and began to vomit. He had no idea what was going on, and all he could think to do was grip the seat of the toilet for dear life.

“Cisco!” Somehow, Eobard was crouched down on the floor behind him; Cisco hadn’t even heard him get out of bed. One of Eobard’s hands was gently holding back Cisco’s hair, and the other was rubbing small circles on Cisco’s back.

**_“Because the truth is, I've grown quite fond of you.”_ **

The voice rattling around in his head, the voice that had been in his dream, wasn’t the voice of Eobard Thawne. So why was he so convinced that Eobard— _his_ Eobard, the man he loved—had been the one saying those things? The question just made Cisco’s stomach clench tighter, and he continued to heave with his face hovering over the toilet bowl.

When Cisco had finally finished puking up what felt like everything he’d eaten in the past week, he trusted himself to lift up his head. Despite the wave of dizziness that overcame him, he inhaled and then let out a ragged breath. “I think…I think I’m okay now,” he lied.

Eobard flushed the toilet and gave one of Cisco’s shoulders a firm squeeze. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

He needn’t have bothered with the command; Cisco was pretty sure he couldn’t have stood up in that moment even if the toilet had spontaneously burst into flames. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, trying to convince himself that the room would probably stop spinning eventually.

True to his word, Eobard was back behind him a few moments later. Cisco felt something warm and soft being draped around his shoulders, and a plastic cup was placed into his hand. “Cisco, drink this. Can you do that for me?” he asked gently.

Cisco opened his eyes. The cup in his hand contained clear liquid, and Eobard had apparently grabbed a throw blanket from the foot of their bed to cover him with. “I don’t think that plain vodka is a great idea right now,” Cisco managed to croak out, even though he could tell that the cup was full of water. “Can you make me a mojito?”

Eobard sighed, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “You’re telling jokes. I guess that means you’re not dying.”

“Yeah, but they’re bad jokes, so I’d say I’ve got a 50-50 chance of survival.” He used a sip of water to rinse out his mouth, swishing it around and spitting it into the toilet when he was done. After that, he drained the cup in a few large gulps. The water was cold, and he could swear he felt it splashing around in his empty belly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Eobard continuing to rub Cisco’s back and Cisco crouching near the toilet. Finally, Cisco’s vertigo subsided, and he looked at his fiancé. “Alright, I think I’m officially done barfing. For now, anyway.”

Gently, Eobard leaned over and felt Cisco’s forehead. “You’re not running hot. Did you feel sick at all earlier today?”

“No.”

“Hmm. It could be something you ate, I guess.” They’d stopped and picked up sushi on the way home, but their food orders had been completely different. “Do you think you can stand up?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m still kinda shaky.”

“Lean on me, then.” He put his hands on Cisco to help him out, and Cisco flinched.

**_“And no one is going to prevent that from happening.”_ **

“What is it?”

_You’re being ridiculous,_ Cisco scolded himself mentally. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “Nothing, I…nevermind.”

Working together, they managed to get Cisco onto his feet. After stopping briefly at Cisco’s side of the countertop so that he could brush his teeth, they walked across the bathroom and back to their bed. Once Cisco was settled in, Eobard grabbed the wastebasket from their bathroom and set it on top of the nightstand closest to Cisco. “Just in case,” he said simply. “This’ll be easier than trying to sprint to the bathroom again, especially since you’re on the far side of the bed.”

“Good God, I haven’t done the bucket-at-my-bedside thing since college,” Cisco murmured, still feeling puny. “’Course, back then, I was puking for an entirely different reason.”

“Again with the terrible jokes. Does that mean you’re getting better or worse?” Eobard mused.

“Who’s joking? You didn’t know me back in college. I played _so much_ beer pong and did _so many_ kegstands. I also totally ruled at Edward Fortyhands.”

“Well, far be it from me to call you a liar,” Eobard replied. He crossed over to his side of the bed and slipped under the covers, sidling up to Cisco once more.

Without thinking, Cisco scooted away from him. He’d done it out of reflex, just as he would have instinctively moved away from an uncontrolled flame or a wild animal. And Eobard noticed.

“Why are you so jumpy? If you’re worried about infecting me or something, there’s really no point. We’ve swapped so much spit in the last 24 hours that my fate’s already been sealed.”

“That’s…that’s not it,” Cisco mumbled.

“Then what is it?” He moved closer, and this time, he managed to catch Cisco in his grasp. He laid a flat palm against the other man’s chest. “Poor thing. Your heart’s racing.”

Cisco already knew that. He bit his lip. “Eobard…you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

“What?”

“You’d never hurt me, right?” Cisco said. “And you wouldn’t…” his voice cracked; he could hardly finish his sentence, “…you wouldn’t kill me. Would you?”

For a moment, Eobard was completely silent. Cisco was glad it was dark in the bedroom, as he could barely bring himself to look at his fiancé’s face, let alone Eobard’s blue eyes. The same eyes that always looked at Cisco’s face with kindness. Not the eyes of a strange, dark-haired man who seemed bizarrely familiar but he wasn’t sure why.

“That’s horrible, Cisco. Why would you even ask something like that?” Eobard finally said. His voice was heavy with emotion.

It _was_ a horrible thing to say, and Cisco felt guilty for even letting the words leave his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just…right before I woke up and started puking, I had a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I don’t want to,” Cisco said, shaking his head.

“Cisco, darling…please tell me about it. I can’t help you feel better if I don’t know what’s bothering you.”

Cisco sighed. Perhaps Eobard was right, and talking about it really would make him feel better. “I…I was at S.T.A.R. Labs,” he started. “In a room with some giant machine. I dunno what it was, though; I’ve never seen anything like it. You walked up behind me, but you didn’t look like yourself. It was like you were wearing someone else’s face.”

“What did I look like?” Eobard asked quietly.

“You had dark hair, and you were wearing all black. Your eyes were still blue, but they were…different.” He frowned. “You were about the same age, I think.”

“If I looked so different, how do you know it was me? Couldn’t it have been someone else?”

“No, you—the dream you— _told me_ that your name was Eobard Thawne.” He bit his lip. “And I…I was upset. I’d found out something that I wasn’t supposed to know.”

“What did you find out?”

Cisco shook his head again. “I don’t remember,” he answered honestly. “I know it was bad, though. You’d done…you’d done something awful. And I was scared, because I knew that you were going to kill me so I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’d done, but I still tried to convince you to spare me. I said I could help you, but you said I couldn’t. That I wasn’t smart enough to help you. And then…”

“And then what?”

“You put your hand through my chest and crushed my heart.” Cisco sniffled, and he willed himself to not start crying. “Right when I woke up, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone really _was_ crushing my heart.”

“I put my hand _through_ your chest? That…” Eobard paused for moment, and then pressed on. “That sounds terrifying. No wonder you were so upset.”

Cisco nodded weakly. He’d half-expected Eobard to tell him that shoving your hand through someone’s chest was impossible (or at least implausible), so it was a relief that he was being sympathetic. “I know that everyone always says this after they have bad dreams, but…it felt real. Like, super real.”

“I imagine it did. But it really _was_ just a nightmare.” Eobard said, his voice firm. He stroked Cisco’s hair. “I meant what I said earlier: nothing matters to me as much as you do. Your happiness, your well-being, your comfort…you believe that, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then be still, Cisco.” He kissed Cisco’s temple. “We’re together, and that means that you’re safe. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cisco said. And he believed it. The distress in Eobard’s voice when Cisco had asked if he’d ever hurt or kill him spoke volumes about the man’s true feelings. No, Eobard was devoted to Cisco, just as Cisco was devoted to him. That nightmare had meant nothing.

…Hadn’t it?

Once again, Cisco fell asleep with the sensation of gentle fingers on his scalp. But this time, there was a tiny hint of anxiety in his gut that he just couldn’t shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has the Arrowverse franchise ever actually addressed the idea that speedsters would have a very short (or even nonexistent) refractory period? If not, I’m glad it’s one thing that the entire fandom seems to agree upon.
> 
> Dialogue from Cisco’s nightmare is from Flash S01E15: “Out of Time.”
> 
> Chapters 2 and 3 are both already about ⅔ of the way written, so I’m hoping I can get them up sooner rather than later. I used to have a bad habit of starting fics and not finishing them, so I’m trying this new thing where I make sure I’m fully committed to finishing one until I show it to anyone else.
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!


	2. Wicked Wednesday, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment they walked into Saints and Sinners, Cisco decided that Mark’s description of the establishment as neither “a classy joint” nor “a shithole” was pretty accurate. The place was acceptably clean and decorated with kitschy posters and neon signs on the walls, and there were some neat, vintage-looking pinball machines lining one side of the dining area and an old-fashioned jukebox on the other. At the same time, however, most of the patrons (and employees) were heavily tattooed and/or pierced. Even in the dim light, they looked like a pretty rough crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Chapters 2 and 3 are both already about ⅔ of the way written, so I’m hoping I can get them up sooner rather than later.” HA HA I WAS SURE FEELING OPTIMISTIC A MONTH AGO, WASN’T I?
> 
> Oh, well. We’re here right now, and that’s what matters, I guess?

Cisco slept fitfully for the rest of the night, so much so that the next morning, he almost agreed when Eobard suggested that he call in sick instead of going to work. But the prospect of staying home by himself all day, especially when Eobard couldn’t say for certain when he’d be back that night, didn’t appeal to him at all. Plus, it was Wednesday, and that was the day that the cleaning staff came to tidy the house. He hated being there while they worked because he never knew what to do; he felt like an asshole when he acted like they weren’t there, but he always got the impression that they thought he was breathing down their necks whenever he tried to make conversation. Being somewhere else while they scrubbed, vacuumed, and freshened everything was just more comfortable for everyone involved.

So he went to work. He tried to act as normal as possible during the car ride to S.T.A.R. Labs, did his and Eobard’s “Lips, please,” routine before they parted ways, and put on a cheerful face as he strolled into the community workroom to see how everyone else in his department was doing. And Wednesday ended up being interesting in two very distinct ways:

First of all, Hartley was in a good mood. And not just the kind of good mood where he didn’t openly insult people or roll his eyes every time Cisco failed to treat him like God’s gift to STEM; the guy was actually smiling and chatting amiably with their teammates. He even accepted a Tootsie Pop when Cisco reached for one out of the community workroom’s candy stash and asked Hartley— more out of politeness than anything else—if he wanted one.

“The hell is up with him?” Cisco said to Brie Larvan when Hartley declared that he was going to go try to fix their broken coffee machine and walked off in the direction of the breakroom. “The way he’s acting…it’s almost kinda creepy…”

Brie’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Well…okay, I think I know what’s going on, but you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone I told you, alright?”

Cisco leaned in conspiratorially. “I promise. What’s up?”

“Yesterday, I saw Hartley take Leonard Snart into his workroom and lock the door. And then…they went into the closet. And they were in there for a while. And when they finally came back out…let’s just say that Hartley looked happy. And Snart looked smug.” She giggled. “Well, more smug than usual, anyway.”

Cisco felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Wait…are you saying that those two hooked up in Hartley’s storage closet?!”

“Maaaybe,” Brie said. She shrugged with one shoulder. “Like I said, you didn’t hear it from me!”

“When…when was this? Like, what time yesterday?” Cisco couldn’t help but ask. For some reason, he really,  _ really _ wanted to know whether Snart had fooled around with Hartley before or after he’d asked Cisco out. What kind of game was that guy playing, anyway? Had his theory about Snart just liking to mess with people been correct? Or was Snart on the rebound and had decided to hit up a sure thing? 

“Mmm, not really sure. I didn’t look at the clock. And I was trying to be sneaky, so it’s not like I could ask.” She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Cisco replied, trying not to imagine those two going at it. “Not really. I mean, it’s not like they were having sex in the middle of the community workroom or something. And I doubt it inferred with Hartley getting his projects done.” There was also the simple fact that, during the early months of his relationship with Eobard (when they hadn’t yet gone public), Cisco had occasionally made up an excuse to swing by the cortex so that the two could have a few minutes to themselves. It would have been hypocritical of him to chastise Hartley for doing essentially the same thing.

“No, I mean, are you mad that Snart’s moved on to Hartley when he used to like you?”

Cisco stared at her. “What? Of course I’m not mad about  _ that _ . I have a fiancé, and it’s not him.”

Brie rolled her eyes. “C’mon, it’s  _ always _ a huge ego-boost when someone has a crush on you, even if you don’t like them back. I know I get  _ très _ annoyed when I find out that a person who used to like me has moved on. It’s like, ‘What’s wrong with me? Aren’t I worth pining over?’”

Cisco grunted. Despite her genius intellect and unusual fashion choices, Brie sometimes reminded him of a clique-obsessed high school girl. “Well, that’s not me. And I didn’t even realize until a few days ago that Snart actually liked me. I thought it was just Hartley being salty and Eobard being paranoid.”

“Wait, Thawne noticed Snart noticing you?” Brie’s eyes were big behind her glasses. “How did  _ that _ go over? Was he all, ‘I'm sorry that you seem to be confused; he belongs to me—the boy is mine’?”

“Brie, don’t you have work to do? If you’re bored, I can find another project for you to start on,” Cisco said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

Brie scoffed in irritation but then walked back over to her table. Five minutes later, when Cisco realized that she was humming Brandy and Monica’s “The Boy is Mine,” he picked up his stuff and carried it to his own workshop so he could have some peace and quiet. At one point, Hartley poked his head in to say that he’d fixed the coffee machine, and Cisco avoided his eyes as he thanked him for his invaluable contributions to the S.T.A.R. Labs R&D Department. 

The second strange thing took place at the end of the day, when Cisco was ready to leave.

Eobard had sent him a text message at 6:30 p.m. telling him that he had an emergency meeting with the structural engineering department that evening and to go ahead and have Mark drive him home. Cisco took this as an opportunity to work late. And around 9, when he reached a stopping point on his project, he texted Mark to let him know that he was heading out and to please bring the car around. But when he walked out the front doors of the building, he saw Mark standing near the car instead of sitting inside of it. Mark had his cellphone against his ear, and as Cisco got close, he couldn’t help but overhear one side of the conversation: 

“Hold on; I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mark paused. “An hour, maybe?” He paused again, then rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Because I’m still on-duty, stupid! I’m at S.T.A.R. Labs right now, and I have to take Ramon…well, if you really don’t want to wait, then call a cab!” Another pause, then Mark’s eyes shot open. “No, don’t drive yourself! Just wait for me, okay? Please!”

Cisco was intrigued. He waved at Mark to get the man’s attention because he wasn’t sure what else to do.

Mark looked at him, nodding in acknowledgement. “Look, I have to go—Mr. Ramon is here, and he’s probably wondering why we’re still standing around in front of the building. Yes, I’ll come get you ASAP…okay…okay. Bye.” He hung up the phone, exhaling in embarrassment. “Sorry about that. Am I taking you straight home, or did you need to stop somewhere first?”

Cisco ignored the question to ask one of his own. “Everything okay?”

Mark shook his head. “Not really. But it’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“What’s going on?”

“Forget about it.”

“No, tell me. Maybe I can help?”

After hesitating for a moment, Mark sighed. “It’s my brother. He met some friends for beer and pool tonight, and they had to leave early, so he’s by himself. He’s too plastered to drive right now, and he’s too broke to afford a cab. So he wants me to come get him. And when I told him that I don’t get off of work for a while, he got irritated.”

“Where is he right now?”

Mark squinted in confusion. “He’s…he’s at Saints and Sinners. Do you know the place?”

“Never heard of it. You said ‘beer and pool,’ though, so I’m guessing it’s not a Catholic book store?”

“Nah, it’s a bar,” Mark said, snorting. “It’s not exactly a  _ classy _ joint, but it’s not a shithole either.”

“Do they serve food?”

“Uh…yeah? Like, burgers and steaks and that kind of thing.”

Cisco smiled. “Well…I haven’t had dinner yet. How about we swing by Saints and Sinners so I can order something? And you can get your brother while we’re there.”

Mark stared at him. “I…you…you don’t need to do that. Clyde’s my problem.”

“It’s fine.”

“If Mr. Thawne finds out…” His voice trailed off, and he winced. “Ramon, I really,  _ really _ don’t want to lose this job.”

“I’ll deal with Eobard,” Cisco said, dismissing Mark’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “I’ll tell him it was a family emergency, and I insisted. You won’t get in trouble.”

“Wow. Okay,” Mark said, and he sounded completely incredulous. “Yeah. I’ll…I’ll call Clyde to tell him that there’s been a change of plans and I’ll be there in 15. Thank you, you’re…you’re a lifesaver.”

“Sounds good. Oh, but Mark? I’ve got one condition you need to follow.”

“Which is…?”

“If your brother pukes in this car, the detailing comes out of your paycheck. Okay?”

Mark let out a bark of laughter. “Deal.”

***

The moment they walked into Saints and Sinners, Cisco decided that Mark’s description of the establishment as neither “a classy joint” nor “a shithole” was pretty accurate. The place was acceptably clean and decorated with kitschy posters and neon signs on the walls, and there were some neat, vintage-looking pinball machines lining one side of the dining area and an old-fashioned jukebox on the other. At the same time, however, most of the patrons (and employees) were heavily tattooed and/or pierced. Even in the dim light, they looked like a pretty rough crowd.

Immediately, Cisco was self-conscious about his choice in clothing: a  _ Star Wars _ graphic t-shirt, khaki cargo pants, sneakers, and a black army jacket. This place obviously served a particular kind of clientele, and their target demographic did not include people like him. Mark seemed a bit out of place, too, in his black slacks and white button-up, but he’d at least taken off his tie and rolled his sleeves up to reveal a (surprisingly large and detailed) tattoo of a light airplane on his forearm. Cisco couldn’t really do anything except stand there and look like a high school student next to him. 

The Mardon brothers must have been regulars, because they’d barely been inside for a full minute when the inked-up woman standing behind the bar locked eyes with Mark. “If you’re looking for Clyde, he’s out back.” She gestured towards the rear of the building with her thumb.

“Out back getting the shit beaten out of him, out back having sex, or out back puking?” Mark asked. There wasn’t any humor in his voice.

The woman shrugged. “Not sure. He walked out with Bivolo, so it could be anything, really.”

“Goddammit,” Mark grumbled. He looked over at Cisco. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Yeah, go get him. I’ll wait here,” Cisco said, taking a seat at the bar. Mark had presented three possible activities Clyde could be engaging in, and Cisco was pretty sure that he didn’t want to see any of them.

As Mark headed off, the tattooed woman turned her attention to Cisco. “You a friend of Mark’s?”

“…Kind of,” Cisco replied, because the truth seemed a little too bougie for this establishment. He cleared his throat. “Can I order food at the bar, or do I have to go to a table for that?”

“You can order here. Whaddya want?”

Mark had given him some recommendations on the drive over, so Cisco didn’t need to look at a menu—he just asked for a bacon burger with chili fries and a soda to sip on. And while the bartender went to the kitchen to put in his order, Cisco resumed scanning the room. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone in particular (lest it turn into a “What’re  _ you _ lookin’ at, punk?!” situation), but he still did some people-watching. To his surprise, he caught a few individuals—a couple girls and one guy—looking at  _ him _ with mild interest, but he wasn’t sure if it was because they thought he was cute or because he stuck out like a sore thumb. 

He really wanted to go try one of the pinball games or browse the music selection on the jukebox, but he felt like it would be a good idea to stay put and not risk drawing attention to himself until he really got a “feel” for the crowd. As he glanced over at the booths near the pool tables, Cisco decided that, overall, Saints and Sinners wasn’t too bad of a place. He wouldn’t come here alone, of course, but maybe Ronnie could be convinced to join him for a game of pool and a pitcher of—

“Ah, hell,” Cisco mumbled out loud.

That was  _ definitely _ Mick Rory sitting at one of the booths near the back of the room; there was no mistaking that shaved head and aquiline nose. And that meant that the short-haired guy sitting across from him—who currently had his back to Cisco—was almost definitely Leonard Snart. Cisco whipped his face around and stared at the row of bottles that adorned the bar area. He hoped to God that Mark got back before Snart and Mick noticed him, because there was no way he could talk to Snart without thinking about him nailing Hartley in a storage closet. 

His phone buzzed with a text message, and, still keeping his head down, he checked it. He was half-hoping that it was Mark, telling him to get to the car because they were leaving RIGHT NOW (Cisco’s food order be damned), but it was actually from Dante:

_ Mama says you haven’t RSVP’d for my party. If you’re coming, don’t bring your sugar daddy. _

Cisco rolled his eyes, even though Dante wasn’t there to see (and appreciate) the gesture. His “sugar daddy?” Seriously? At least his parents were tactful enough to use Eobard’s name, autocorrect mistakes notwithstanding. Dante couldn’t even seem to do that much. 

Cisco knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Just as Hartley Rathaway seemed to think that Leonard Snart liking someone who wasn’t him was proof-positive that they lived in an imperfect, unfair world…Dante Ramon seemed to think that his little brother having the affection of a charming, good-looking billionaire was a pretty good indicator that God hated him personally. Instead of being happy that Cisco had finally caught a break after more than 25 years of loserdom, Dante often let his envy manifest as malice. 

Case in point: about a month ago, Cisco had called Dante to find out what the plans were for their parents’ anniversary dinner, and the conversation had eventually turned to how unseasonably hot it had been in Central City that week. In an attempt to be nice, Cisco had invited Dante to come over to his house so that they could go swimming. Eobard’s mansion had an enormous pool that was both indoors  _ and _ outdoors; a retractable door separated the two sections so that the amenity could be enjoyed year-round.

Dante’s response had been to remind Cisco rather shortly that it wasn’t  _ his _ house—it was his boyfriend’s. And he wasn’t interested in coming over, anyway, because the neighborhood where he and Cisco’s parents lived had a community pool, and that was fine for him. “Maybe  _ you’re _ too good for that kind of thing nowadays, but I’m not. Besides, I don’t want a horny old man ogling me while I’m in a bathing suit, and that’s part of the deal, isn’t it?”

Their chat had turned into an argument, which subsequently turned into a shouting match, and the end result was Dante hanging up on him and Eobard coming home from a meeting with the Central City Chamber of Commerce to find a (slightly day-drunk) Cisco skinny-dipping in their pool because “you can’t do [that] in a community pool.”

Cisco and Dante had spoken since then, but it had just been in the form of casual (sometimes even curt) text messages. And, with that knowledge in mind, Cisco reacted in a way that felt appropriate. He took his phone in his hands and quickly typed:

_ Sorry, I’ve got a major deadline coming up so I’ll probably work late on Saturday. Let’s grab dinner & drinks next weekend if you’re free? _

After a moment’s hesitation, he added:

_ I’ll have my assistant drop off your gift. _

(He actually didn’t have a personal assistant. Brie or Bill would probably be willing to pretend if he paid them, though, and if they refused, Eobard could almost certainly rope Bob into it.)

Dante’s reply came a few minutes after Cisco hit ‘Send’:

_ K w/e. _

Cisco huffed in annoyance. Clearly, Dante didn’t really care whether Cisco would be at the party or not, so why was he wasting so much time and energy dwelling on it? And if Dante was going to be an asshole (as usual), then he wasn’t going to bend over backwards trying to be nice. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother having a fake assistant drop off his gift. Hell, now that Cisco thought about it, Dante had given him a $25 Target gift card for  _ his _ last birthday. Maybe Cisco should do the same thing and just text his brother a digital redemption code?

Suddenly, the bartender set some bright pink monstrosity of a drink down in front of him. It was garnished with an orange slice and two maraschino cherries, the latter of which were impaled on a plastic skewer shaped like a sword. Cisco was startled, and he stared blankly at the woman behind the counter. “What’s this?”

“Shirley Temple,” the woman explained, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Compliments of that gentleman over there.” She pointed off at the end of the bar.

Cisco blinked his eyes and then slowly, carefully turned to peer in that direction. He had a feeling he knew what was happening, and he prayed that he was wrong. But sure enough, when he looked, he saw Leonard Snart sitting at one of the nearby stools. Snart caught Cisco’s eye and flashed him a grin, saluting him with a glass of what was probably whisky.

Cisco didn’t bother hiding his groan of exasperation. In fact, he even put his head down on the counter so that there was no mistaking what he thought of his present circumstances. “Eff my life…” he mumbled, while the bartender went to serve another customer.

Snart, being Snart, took this as an invitation, and he sauntered over to where Cisco was sitting, smirking evilly. “ _ Hello _ , Cisco. What’s a classy guy like you doing in a dive like this?”

“You bought me a Shirley Temple, Snart?  _ Really _ ? I’m younger than you, but I’m not a little kid.”

“Your wardrobe suggests otherwise,” Snart quipped, taking in Cisco’s cargo pants and t-shirt. He sat down on the stool next to Cisco’s and put his glass down on the counter. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m here with my driver,” Cisco explained, sitting back up again. “His brother needed a ride, and we came here to pick him up. I’m getting dinner, too.”

“And where’s your driver now?”

“Out back. I think his brother got sick or…something.”

“So you’re all by your lonesome?” Snart teased. He hadn’t gotten any less handsome since their last conversation. A tiny part of Cisco wondered how those heavy eyelashes would feel against his cheek—and everywhere else. “Well, I’d better keep a close watch over you, then. Thawne wouldn’t be happy if his beau got hassled by some perverted sleazebag.”

“You mean besides you?” Cisco replied before he could stop himself. He’d been trying his hardest not to say anything that could be considered flirtatious, and he’d gone a little too far in the opposite direction.

If Snart was insulted, though, he didn’t show it. Instead, he snorted with laughter (Cisco’s stomach flip-flopped) and pantomimed like he’d been shot in the chest. “Oof. Damn, Ramon—that was harsh. And after I was so nice about the update for my gun not being finished by the time you said it would.” He took a sip of his whisky. “Still waiting on that, by-the-way.”

“The update will be done tomorrow. And it’ll go through wirelessly, so you don’t need to come by S.T.A.R. Labs. Unless, of course, you want to see Hartley.”

That, of all things, wiped the smug smile off of Snart’s face. “What’s Hartley got to do with it?”

Cisco fought the urge to scoff. “Are you gonna look me in the eyes and tell me that you  _ didn’t _ hook up with him yesterday, right after you left my office? Or maybe it was before; I’m not 100% sure on the timing. The bottom line is that one of our co-workers saw you two go into his storage closet together, and we all know what that means.”

“Oh…I see,” Snart said, and to Cisco’s surprise, he laughed. “No, I won’t lie. And, for the record, it was  _ after _ you turned me down. No need to be jealous, though, Cisco—it was just a bit of fun. I told Hartley from the get-go not to read too much into it, and he said that he understood.”

Cisco drummed his fingers on the bar. Hartley wasn’t acting like a guy whose crush had used him as a bed-warmer the day before; that was for damn sure. “I’m not sure he believed you. Oh, and I’m not jealous, either. I just don’t want for Hartley to get his heart broken and become even more obnoxious than he already is.” Absentmindedly, he took a swig of the Shirley Temple. It actually wasn’t bad. “But since you brought up your gun, I have questions for you.” 

“Oh?”

Cisco looked him in the eye. “ _ Why _ did I make your gun for you? And when did I do it? I can’t remember, and it’s bugging me.”

For a tiny moment, Snart seemed genuinely intrigued. But it really did only last a moment; cool indifference quickly won out. “Did you try asking Thawne?” he asked, sipping his drink.

“Yeah, I did. Turns out he doesn’t remember, either.”

“Hmmm. That’s…interesting,” Snart remarked. He threw back the rest of his whisky in one go.

Cisco exhaled. “But  _ you _ remember, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

Cisco resisted the urge to grab Snart’s empty glass and smash it against the man’s forehead. “So, tell me!”

Snart leaned in again, like he and Cisco were sharing a secret. “And what’ll you give me in return?”

“What?”

“I have information you want. What are you willing to give me for it? That’s how we do business in my neck of the woods.” He took a moment to glance at the bartender and signal that he wanted a refill on his drink, then he turned back to Cisco.

Cisco scoffed. “This isn’t a business transaction, you weirdo. And besides, aren’t I already giving you updates to the cold gun?”

“Nope, that doesn’t count,” Snart said, shaking his head. Behind him, the bartender poured more amber liquid into his glass. “You were already going to do that before you even knew you needed my help. You can’t just go back on your word, kid. It’s like changing the rules in the middle of the game.”

“This isn’t a game, either,” Cisco grunted. He swallowed another mouthful of his Shirley Temple, mostly because he needed a second to figure out what he’d say next. “Fine, what do you want? Money? Access to unreleased S.T.A.R. Labs tech? VIP passes for one of the amusement parks Eobard bought me? Worlds of Fun is definitely a lot  _ more _ fun when you don’t have to wait in line for the Patriot…” 

Snart snorted. “Well, my little sister  _ does _ love roller coasters. But, no, that’s not what I was thinking.”

“I’m not a mind reader,” Cisco said. “So, tell me what you want.” He had to bite his tongue to avoid adding,  _ “What you really, really want.” _ This was a serious conversation, after all.

“I already did.” Snart leaned in even closer; his breath smelled like whisky, but not in an entirely bad way. “Yesterday, in your office. I told you what I want from you.”

Once again, Cisco felt like the temperature in the room had surged. It was almost embarrassing how Snart could get under his skin with just a suggestive comment or two. Did he have that effect on everyone? Or was Cisco just exceptionally weak-willed? 

Cisco pulled away, increasing the distance between them, and sipped his drink. With his eyes on the bar, he said, “What happened to accepting that I don’t want to go out with you? Were you just bullshitting me yesterday when you said that?”

“I said I could accept it if you weren’t attracted to me.” His voice turned sing-songy: “But we both know that that’s not true…”

“You’re wrong.” He was still avoiding eye contact.

“You should stop lying, Cisco. You’re not very good at it.”

“And  _ you _ should stop bugging me before I decide to execute a self-destruct sequence on the cold gun,” Cisco snapped. He folded his arms across his chest and forced himself to look at his would-be suitor. “You like to keep that thing strapped to your thigh, right?”

Again, Snart laughed at Cisco’s hostility. “God, you’re like an angry little kitten. If I keep pushing, will you scratch me with your itty-bitty claws?” He licked his lips. “For the record,  _ I’m _ a biter, but only if the other person’s okay with it.”

Cisco crossed his legs, even though there wasn’t a desk between them to hide the action from view. He couldn’t help it; the idea of beautiful, dangerous Leonard Snart biting him on the shoulder or hip or _ —sweet Jesus— _ inner thigh made his face flush and his stomach tighten.

Thankfully, Mark chose that moment to stride towards them. A man Cisco had never seen was leaning on Mark’s shoulder; New Guy had shaggy blonde hair, stubble on his chin, and a dazed expression on his face. He had to be Clyde Mardon, since Mark (probably) wouldn’t have let anyone else just hang on him like that. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Mark grumbled. His eyes landed on Snart, then flicked back to Cisco. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Cisco said, uncrossing his legs and trying to look unruffled. “I’m just waiting for my food.”

“If you say so.” He glanced at Snart. “Snart.”

“Mardon,” Snart replied coolly. He looked at Clyde. “Other Mardon,” he added, furrowing his brow in distaste.

“No,  _ he’s _ the ‘Other Mardon,” Clyde argued, blinking blearily. He might have been blitzed off of something other than alcohol. “Who’re you?” he asked when his gaze fell on Cisco.

“I’m Cisco Ramon. You know, the ‘Mr. Ramon’ that your brother drives around for a living?” Cisco said.

Clyde stared him down for a second, and then said, “Why, because you’re too young to get a driver’s license?” He turned to Mark. “Is he even legal?”

Cisco was just about to snap,  _ “I’m 27, you asshole!” _ when a different tattooed woman walked up to their little group. She had a paper bag stamped with the Saints and Sinners logo in her hand. “Bacon burger and chili fries to go?” she asked, her cheerful tone belying her tough appearance.

“That’s me,” Cisco said, relieved that they could now leave. As she set the bag on the bar, he pulled out his wallet. “I also had a soda. So, how much do I owe you?”

“It’s—” the waitress began, but Snart interrupted her:

“Comp it.”

Both Cisco and the waitress turned their heads in his direction. The waitress—whose nametag read “LILY” in block letters—looked just as confused as Cisco felt. “Uh…you sure, sir?” she started.

Snart nodded. “Cisco’s a friend of mine, so go ahead and comp his meal. I’ll sign off on it.”

“Wait, do you  _ own _ this place?” Cisco said, thankful that he’d had the good sense to not insult their surroundings while they were talking. Then again, Snart had referred to the bar as a “dive,” so maybe he wouldn’t have been offended?

“Mm-hmm,” Snart said, sipping his whisky. “Thawne’s not the only businessman you could hook up with, Cisco. If  _ that’s _ what you’re into, I mean.”

Cisco narrowed his eyes and forced himself not to take the bait. His wallet was still in his hand, so he fished out a $20 bill and handed it to the waitress. “Here. All of that is for you, then.”

Lily tucked the bill into the pocket of her apron and then blew Cisco a kiss. “Thanks, sweetheart. Come back any time.” As she turned to walk away, she let her hand slide from one of Snart’s shoulders to the other, brushing her fingers over his back as she did so. When he turned to look at her, she shot him a flirtatious glance. Snart returned the look in kind, then lowered his gaze to watch her ass as she walked over to a booth on the other side of the room.

“She seems nice,” Cisco said, putting his jacket on.

“Who, Lily?” Snart said, looking back at him. “Yes, she’s very friendly.” 

“She’s probably a little too classy to let her boss screw her in a supply closet, though. Bummer—I know that that’s what  _ you’re _ into.” He punctuated his statement by grabbing the skewer out of his Shirley Temple, pulling the cherries into his mouth with his teeth, and then sticking it back into the half-empty glass. 

It would have been a pretty awesome bit to go out on, but of course, that was the moment that Clyde chose to open his mouth again: “Hey, aren’t  _ you _ screwing your boss, Ramon?” He snorted. “Bet he’s bent you over a table or six at those fancy labs…”

“Clyde, shut the fuck up!” Mark snarled, looking horrified.

While Cisco felt his face burn with embarrassment, Snart smirked. “Hey, he’s not wrong. About Cisco sleeping with his boss, at least. You’re smarter than you look, Other Mardon.”

Cisco groaned. No, this was not the exit he’d been planning to make. “Well, thanks for wrecking my evening, Snart,” he grunted. “Let’s never,  _ ever _ do this again.” He grabbed his food and stalked in the direction of the exit. Mark followed, dragging Clyde along with him.

“Bye-bye, Cisco,” Snart called out, practically purring. “Like Lily said: come back anytime.”

Cisco didn’t say anything in response. In fact, he made a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut until he’d stepped outside. Once the cool night air hit his face, he realized abruptly that he’d left his soda sitting on the bar. But there was no way in hell he was going to go back for it. 

***

On the drive home, while Clyde was snoozing in the back of the car and Cisco was sitting in the passenger seat, Mark apologized for his brother’s crude comments. “When Clyde gets drunk, he runs his mouth. Sorry you got stuck in his crosshairs tonight.” He checked his blind spot, changed lanes, and then added, “If you’d decked him for talking shit, I wouldn’t have tried to stop you or anything.”

“Wish I’d known that earlier,” Cisco replied shortly, staring out the window. They’d left downtown Central City behind and were headed towards the wealthier suburbs. “But, y’know, he was so out of it that he probably would’ve shrugged off anything I could throw at him. I’m not exactly Floyd Mayweather Jr., man.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll punch him for you once he’s sobered up.” He paused. “Oh…uh…also…”

Against his better judgement, Cisco said, “What is it?”

“Just so you know…I didn’t say that,” Mark said, looking uncomfortable. “If you thought that he might’ve been repeating something that  _ I _ said about you…he wasn’t.” 

“It’s fine,” Cisco said.

“I mentioned to him once that you’re Thawne’s boyfriend and you both work at S.T.A.R. Labs but…look, I don’t think…”

“Mark, just stop, okay?” Cisco said, sighing. “He’s not wrong—Eobard  _ is _ my boss.” He smiled weakly. “And I’m  _ definitely _ sleeping with him.”

“Yeah, with how often you two make out in the backseat while I’m driving, I figured as much,” Mark said with a good-natured snort. He sounded relieved that Cisco wasn’t angry with him. “But speaking of you two in the backseat: I overheard Thawne talking to you a while back about how Snart’s been hitting on you lately. Was he bothering you tonight?”

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it wasn’t anything serious. He was just being an asshole.”

“Typical Snart,” Mark griped.

“I didn’t know you knew him.”

“We’ve…worked together before,” Mark replied stiffly. “Well, actually, I’ve worked  _ for _ him. Clyde has, too.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Just odd jobs, like security detail and manual labor. My brother and I both have records, so we kinda take whatever we can get in order to scrape by. This driving thing is one of the first steady gigs I’ve had in a while, which is why I don’t want to screw it up.” He glanced over at Cisco. “I owe you a favor now, so let me know if you want me to kick Snart’s ass. I think Clyde and I could probably take him, as long as Rory doesn’t interfere…”

Before Cisco could answer, Clyde’s voice rang out from the back seat:  “This whole world is wrong, man. We’re not…none of us are supposed to be here. Not like this.” Cisco was startled; he’d thought that the younger Mardon brother was asleep. It was also a rather ominous thing to say randomly, even if Cisco didn’t know what he was rambling about.

They were at a stop sign and there were no other vehicles on the road, so Mark put the car in ‘park,’ undid his seatbelt, reached back, and swatted Clyde on the head, hard enough that Cisco actually flinched—he, too, had been subjected to plenty of ‘baby brother beat-downs’ in his time. “Just shut up, idiot! You’ve already caused enough problems tonight, so don’t open your mouth again unless it’s to tell me that you’re gonna be sick, okay?!”

Clyde didn’t answer; he just groaned like a dying animal and put his arms over his face.

Mark sat back down, redid his seatbelt, and put the car in ‘drive.’ As he took his foot off of the brake and continued onward, he said to Cisco, “I think I’m about done for tonight.”

“Yeah, me too,” Cisco replied. And he went back to staring out the window. He didn’t really say anything else until several minutes later, when he was bidding Mark farewell from his front porch.

The house was dark and quiet when Cisco first walked in, a sure sign that his fiancé wasn’t there yet. Usually, when one of them got home before the other, the early arriver would not only turn on the lights, but also get something playing on the stereo system and flip the switch to start a fire in the gas hearth. Eobard said that music, lights, and a dancing fire—as well as a finger or two of scotch—all helped him unwind after a grueling day of working at the labs and/or dealing with people who were less intelligent than him. For Cisco, though, it was more about making the building seem less empty. He’d grown up in a house that, square-footage wise, was maybe a third of the size of Eobard’s place and located in a densely-populated, lower-income neighborhood. And after college, he’d moved into a one-bedroom apartment that could barely hold all of his personal belongings. The bottom line was that he just wasn’t used to having so much space all to himself. That, paired with Eobard’s preference for open floor plans, glass walls, and large distances between himself and his nearest neighbors, sometimes made Cisco feel overexposed. And maybe just a tiny bit isolated.

He’d been kidding the day before when he told Eobard that he might die of loneliness or boredom if the man wouldn’t let him get a fennec fox. But in all seriousness, the house  _ needed _ a pet, even if it was just a cat. Or, hell, a ferret. Anything to change the atmosphere of the mansion from “formal museum” to “comfortable home.”

He only felt this sense of discomfort when he was alone. When Eobard (or any other guests) were there, he was fine. And background noise did actually help with things, too. So, he turned on most of the lights in the house, started a fire, and ate his dinner at the kitchen counter while getting caught up on  _ The Walking Dead _ .

The burger and chili fries from Saints and Sinners were a little bland; they could definitely benefit from a bit of extra salt. The writing on the most recent seasons of _The_ _Walking Dead_ had been a little bland, too. But the food filled his belly, and the show allowed him to drool over Sonequa Martin-Green and Jeffrey Dean Morgan at the same time (he was seriously attracted to those two, even if he usually went for women with long hair and men closer to age 40 than age 50), so he tried to just relax and enjoy both. He also tried not to dwell too much on what Clyde could have possibly meant when the man remarked that none of them were “supposed to be here.” His impostor complex was already bad enough without taking a near-stranger’s drunk (and possibly high) ramblings to heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems to end really abruptly. It and the next one were originally a single installment, but when I realized just how long it had gotten, I felt an overwhelming need to split it in two. But the good news is that the (new) Chapter 3 is already finished; I just need to edit it. So maybe #3 really WILL be up “sooner rather than later” this time around?
> 
> On a lighter note: Leonard Snart is totally an ass man. No one can convince me otherwise...


	3. Wicked Wednesday, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, it wasn’t a sob story ,” Cisco argued, turning to look at him. “I pushed Mark to tell me what was going on in the first place. If you want to blame someone for us going there, blame me.” He hadn’t anticipated this being as big of a deal as it apparently was. Mark had expressed concern over getting fired, and Cisco was starting to worry that the man’s fears had been legitimate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the final chapter count on this thing changed once again. I was working on Chapter 4 last night, and I made a decision to also split that one in two because it was getting too long. So, I think that this thing will wind up being six chapters in total? Or maybe it'll wind up being seven. Only time will tell...
> 
> (I swear, I really DO know where this story is going; I’m NOT making it up on the fly! I just really, REALLY underestimated how much I still had to do in order to link together the sections that I'd already written. Also, I don’t want for anyone to panic when they pull up a chapter and realize just how long it’s gonna take to read.)

Cisco got into bed around 11 and dozed off with the TV and one bedside lamp still on. He woke up to Eobard in the room with him, undressing and laying out his clothes so that he could sort them easily. His sudden appearance startled Cisco a bit, and Cisco let out a small gasp as he sat up.

Eobard looked down at him. “Sorry, darling. I was trying not to wake you.”

“No, no, it’s cool,” Cisco said, blinking. He glanced over at the TV. The same episode of _The Outer Limits_ was still on, so he’d probably only been asleep for 30 or 40 minutes. “How was your meeting? And did you eat dinner?”

“The meeting was as boring as it was necessary,” Eobard said as he picked up his clothes and carried them over to their closet. His dress shirt, undershirt, socks, and underwear would go in the laundry hamper, while his slacks, suit jacket, and tie would be put up for later. “If I had known it was going to run so long, though, I might have just rescheduled it for tomorrow morning. And yes, I ate—we ordered takeout when we realized just how much we had to go over before any of us could leave.” He glanced back at Cisco. “There’s leftover orange chicken in the fridge if you want a late-night snack.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Cisco stretched out on the bed and yawned. “Was Ronnie there? At the meeting, I mean?”

“He was,” Eobard said. “And he told me to say hi to you and give you Caitlin’s love. You haven’t hung out with them in a while, have you?”

“Not outside of work, no,” Cisco said, wrinkling up his nose. “I eat lunch with them sometimes when our schedules line up, but that’s it. They’re still in the honeymoon phase, so when they’re not actively trying to be professional, they can be a little… _much_. You know?”

“Do you think _we’ll_ be ‘a little much’ after we get married?” Eobard asked playfully. He had finished hanging up his clothes and was making his way towards the bathroom, presumably to brush his teeth and shower quickly before coming to bed.

“Maybe. Only one way to find out.” Cisco suddenly remembered what Mark had said about witnessing him and Eobard making out in the backseat of the car while they were being chauffeured around. A part of him felt like he should be embarrassed, but mostly, he thought it was funny—especially since Mark had never seen fit to bring it up before.

“By-the-way, Cisco…do you know why there’s an empty bag from Saints and Sinners in the kitchen trash can?” Eobard called from the bathroom. “I’m guessing that one of the cleaning ladies left it, but I can’t imagine that a place like that is particularly popular with middle-aged women in the service industry…”

“That’s actually _my_ trash,” Cisco said. “Which reminds me: there should still be half an order of chili fries in the fridge if _you_ want a midnight snack.”

Eobard walked back into the bedroom, an unreadable expression on his face. He had a towel around his waist but was otherwise naked; Cisco had half a mind to wolf-whistle at him. “I’m fine, food-wise. But just out of curiosity, why did you go to Saints and Sinners? I don’t think that that place is really your…scene.”

“Mark needed to swing by real quick. I told him it was okay, since I needed to grab dinner, anyway.”

Eobard raised an eyebrow. “Mark Mardon?”

“No, Mark Wahlberg. He was in Central City to film another Transformers movie—I think that they’re up to number 16 now—and since he’s a close, personal friend of mine, I…” his voice trailed off. Eobard didn’t look happy, so he figured it would be a good idea to abort the joke. “Yes, Mark Mardon.”

“So, Mark Mardon, a man I pay to provide us with safe, reliable transportation during the week, dragged you along on a personal errand?”

“It was time-sensitive. His brother—”

“If it was something that couldn’t wait, then he should have made arrangements for one of the other drivers to cover his shift. Taking you along was inappropriate.”

“That’s what he thought, but I told him that I really didn’t mind.”

“Cisco…” Eobard started, sighing.

“ _Eobard,_ ” Cisco said, mimicking his tone. “I’m an adult, and Mark and I went to a bar. We didn’t visit a crack house or a brothel.” He turned onto his side, putting his back to him. “You’re overreacting.”

Eobard sighed again. “If you say so.” He turned and walked back into the bathroom. Cisco heard water running, but he waited until he actually heard Eobard get in the shower before he rolled onto his back again.

Since he was already awake, he decided to check his phone to see if he’d missed anything while he was asleep. Sure enough, the device showed three new text messages. One was from Caitlin Snow, timestamped from a few minutes past 11, asking if he’d like to get brunch on Sunday—Ronnie was supposed to help his cousin with a home improvement project that morning, and Caitlin thought it would be a good opportunity for her and Cisco to get together one-on-one like they used to. Another was from Eobard, recieved about 25 minutes ago, saying that he was finally out of his meeting and he’d be home soon. And the third, which had arrived while Cisco and Eobard were talking about Saints and Sinners, was from Lindsay Kang, a fellow S.T.A.R. Labs mechanical engineer. Apparently, the niece that Lindsay was babysitting for the week was experiencing some kind of orthodontic emergency, so Lindsay was almost certainly going to get to work late the next day because they had to see the doctor ASAP. And normally, she wouldn’t bother Cisco with something like that, but Lindsay was supposed to accompany Brie to a tech showcase at Central City University on Thursday, and she was nervous about causing problems for everyone.

Lindsay’s message seemed to be the most pressing, and he figured that she must _really_ be anxious if she was texting him so late at night. So he quickly replied, telling her to take care of her niece and not worry about the showcase; the event wasn’t until the afternoon, so worst case scenario, she could just meet Brie there. He also told her to text Brie and discuss the matter with her directly, as he trusted them both to handle the situation.

(The term “orthodontic emergency” made him chuckle. While he was pretty sure that Lindsay meant something like a broken bracket or a crushed retainer, it was more fun to imagine that the kid had been trying to kiss a classmate who also had braces, and they’d somehow gotten stuck together.)

He was in the process of responding to Caitlin’s invitation to brunch when he got a notification for _another_ new text. And he was getting ready to make a joke about people blowing up his phone in the middle of the damn night when he saw that the text was from his mom. His amusement immediately turned into dread, and the actual contents of the message didn’t make him feel any better:

_Dante said that you’re not coming to his party because you have to work. Can’t you just take the night off? Dante’s your only brother, mijo. Is your job really more important to you than him?_

“Yeah, actually, it is!” Cisco snapped out loud before he could stop himself. He then immediately felt guilty, because he was pretty sure that it was “wrong” to think that way. Deliberately putting their work before their family was the kind of thing that the villain—or, at least, a misguided secondary character—in a kid’s movie would do.

“Did you say something?” Eobard asked, wandering back into the bedroom. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was currently patting it dry so his pillowcase wouldn’t get wet.

“No. I mean, yeah, I did, but it doesn’t matter. My mom’s just being difficult.” He quickly replied to Caitlin’s message ( _“Brunch sounds awesome! Let’s drink mimosas and talk shit about our co-workers!_ ”) and then put his phone on the nightstand. He’d deal with his crazy family in the morning.

“How so?”

“She wants me to come to Dante’s birthday party on Saturday. I told Dante that I couldn’t make it this weekend because I have to work, and I doubt _he_ really cares whether I’m there or not. But Mama’s upset and acting like I’m a monster for choosing my job over spending time with them.”

Eobard frowned. “But…you _don’t_ have to work this weekend. Unless I’m confused, R&D doesn’t have any major deadlines next week.”

“I know. I just said that so I’d have an excuse to not go. Fat lotta good _that_ did me.” He stared at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” Eobard asked.

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just text her and be like, ‘I’m not coming because I don’t want to be there; you people drive me bonkers.’ I’m sure it’ll go over super well.” He let out a huffy breath. “I can just imagine her telling my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and anyone else who’ll listen that I’m literally _the_ _worst son ever_...”

“Doesn’t she do that already?” Eobard remarked, heading back into the bathroom.

Cisco chose not to dignify that with an answer. Even if it was true, it was still a tactlessly blunt, almost cruel thing to state so flippantly. He rolled over onto his side again, his back to the bathroom doorway, because he didn’t trust himself to not say something ugly in response—maybe a quip about how, in the future, Eobard really shouldn’t work so late, since “old people” tended to get cranky when they stayed up past their bedtime.

He would have been content to let the matter drop. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards. Eobard walked back into their room, turned off the TV and the lamp, and climbed into bed. As he scooted up towards Cisco, he said, “You know what your problem is?”

_Oh, I just love conversations that start out this way,_ Cisco grumbled internally. “I’m too handsome?” he guessed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m too brilliant? I’m way, _way_ too good at sex, and I make all of your previous partners seem like total duds in comparison?”

To Cisco’s surprise, Eobard pushed Cisco’s hair aside and planted a trio of kisses on the back of his neck. “Yes, yes, and…okay, yes. But I was thinking about the fact that you worry too much about what people think of you.”

“So, what, I’m supposed to go through life as a ruthless, self-centered jackass?”

“No, your sweetness is one of the many things that I love about you. But you don’t have to go out of your way to please everyone. And it’s okay to maintain a professional distance from the people who work under you. That’s part of being a leader.”

“I know, I just—” Cisco replied stiffly.

“Take this thing with Mark Mardon. When you two went to Saints and Sinners, was he still on the clock?”

“Yes.”

“And would you have thought to go there if he hadn’t given you some sob story about his brother?”

“Okay, it wasn’t a _sob story_ ,” Cisco argued, turning to look at him. “I pushed Mark to tell me what was going on in the first place. If you want to blame someone for us going there, blame me.” He hadn’t anticipated this being as big of a deal as it apparently was. Mark had expressed concern over getting fired, and Cisco was starting to worry that the man’s fears had been legitimate.

“I _do_ blame you. That’s the point. You could have just minded your own business and not asked him what was wrong. And even after he told you, you could have just said, ‘Oh, sorry you’re having to deal with that,’ and continued on like normal. But instead, you just _had_ to accommodate him. And now, Mark is going to think that it’s okay to bend the rules and take care of personal matters while he’s supposed to be working, because you won’t tell him ‘no.’”

“I’m…look, I’m sure that it won’t happen again,” Cisco insisted. “Mark’s never given us any trouble before. He’s actually _more_ reliable than the other drivers, in fact.”

Eobard exhaled. “Fine. I’ll let this one slide.” Cisco barely had time to be relieved, though, because Eobard plunged on without stopping. “Here’s another example: almost every time you talk to your parents or your brother…you get upset. In the entire time I’ve known you, I don’t think I can recall a single pleasant visit you’ve had with them; something always goes wrong. So _why_ do you keep interacting with them?”

“Because they’re my family!” Cisco snapped. “I don’t really have a choice!”

“Yes, you do. It’s not illegal to stop talking to your immediate family; people do it all the time. You’re just worried about how they’ll react if you stop playing the game.” He sighed. “Look, when I see you at S.T.A.R. Labs, leading your team or building your projects…you seem happy. And when you’re with me or your friends, you’re happy. Hell, when you just loaf around this house, you’re happy. Is there something about life away from your family that’s not to your satisfaction?”

“Well, my fiancé can be a bit of a jerk sometimes,” Cisco grunted, glaring at the bedspread.

“I’m just being honest,” Eobard said. He sounded like his patience was running out. “I could understand you needing to have your family in your life if there was some kind of void you were trying to fill. But…well, I don’t know how else to put it: why do you need them? What good are they to you?”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work,” Cisco said, still refusing to look at him. “You don’t get it.”

“Then _help me ‘_ get it.’ Explain your thought process to me.”

“I…I can’t,” Cisco admitted. “It’s complicated.” How the hell was he supposed to explain that, after almost 28 years of trying to please his parents and get along with his brother, he couldn’t just give up on things ever getting better? It was a bizarre version of the sunk-cost fallacy. If he told Eobard, the other man would immediately point out that he was being completely irrational. Cisco already knew that, so what was the point?

Eobard sighed again. “I only want what’s best for you. So, before you run headfirst into a concrete wall once again… _please_ at least consider a different path. One that’s not blocked by a wall. Do you understand?”

Cisco was silent. His chest was hurting from the weight of Eobard’s words. He absolutely had not been prepared to discuss such a sensitive topic, and he almost felt like he’d walked into an ambush.

“Cisco, do you understand me? You’re far too smart to keep making the same stupid mistake over and over.”

“Yes, I understand,” Cisco said shortly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. That’s all I ask.” There was a finality in his voice, indicating the end of their conversation.

_Whatever,_ Cisco thought. He just wanted to stop talking and put this weird, emotionally taxing day behind him.

But Eobard had gotten into bed naked, which was his usual M.O. when he wanted to make love. Sure enough, after lying in silence for a minute, he resumed kissing Cisco’s neck and made a move to slide one of his hands underneath the waistband of Cisco’s boxers.

Cisco batted the wandering hand away. Eobard’s frank assessment of his character flaws hadn’t really put him in the mood for sex. “Not tonight,” he mumbled.

Eobard nipped at his earlobe. “Come on, now. I didn’t disagree when you bragged about being good in bed…” He reached for Cisco again.

“ _Not tonight_ ,” Cisco repeated, a bit more forcefully this time. He grabbed Eobard’s wrist to still his hand.

Eobard exhaled; Cisco felt hot breath on his neck. “Fine.” He retreated, putting as much space between them as possible. “Goodnight, Cisco.”

“Goodnight,” Cisco said back. If Cisco was just going to be “Cisco”—not ‘my love,’ not ‘darling,’ not ‘baby,’ but just “Cisco”—then he wasn’t even going to say Eobard’s name in response.

Was he being petty? Yes. Did he take some bizarre satisfaction in acting out? Also yes. Probably because, God help him, a part of him knew that Eobard was right. He _would_ almost certainly be happier if he just stopped talking to Dante and his parents, or at least stopped caring so much what they thought. He always told himself that Eobard didn’t “understand” complicated family dynamics because he didn’t have any living family members of his own. But maybe that just gave Eobard a totally unbiased perspective on the matter?

There was an epilogue to the pool story—the one where Dante had reacted nastily to Cisco’s invitation to come over and swim: once Eobard had heard about Cisco’s argument with his brother, he’d suggested that they host an actual, full-blown pool party that weekend. And so they did. They’d invited their friends, a handful of local celebrities, and a bunch of S.T.A.R. Labs employees and affiliates. Cisco had been shocked by just how good Ronnie and Caitlin were at chicken fighting, and he’d caught Hartley flirting with one of the rent-a-lifeguards Eobard had hired to supervise the event.

(“Did you get his number?” Cisco had asked eagerly, and Hartley had told Cisco to mind his own business while he, pink-cheeked and trying not to smile, tucked his phone into his bag. Considering that Hartley was still pining for Snart, nothing seemed to have come of it, but Cisco was still excited to see Hartley put himself out there.)

The party had been fun, with lots of laughter, a fair amount of horseplay, and no shortage of food and alcohol. Even Malcolm Merlyn, who’d shown up with his wife and two adult children in tow, seemed to enjoy himself (though Cisco and Rebecca Merlyn _did_ have to break up business-related conversations between Eobard and Malcolm on more than one occasion). When the last guest had left, Cisco was exhausted from playing host all afternoon and evening, but in a good way.

Dante had been invited to the party, but he hadn’t shown up. And, as Cisco dozed in a pool chair while Eobard tipped the servers and the lifeguards and the rest of staff they’d hired, he’d admitted to himself that he was a bit _relieved_ that Dante hadn’t come over. If his brother had been there, Cisco probably would have spent the day walking on eggshells, trying to keep him happy while Dante took digs at Cisco’s appearance, job, and relationships at every opportunity.

Things hadn’t always been like this. Sure, Dante had been their parents’ favorite for as long as he could remember, but as kids, they’d at least had each other’s backs the way that brothers should. Somewhere along the line, however, Dante had seemingly bought into their parents’ perspective that Cisco (nerdy, bisexual, fully capable of playing a song on the electric guitar but far more interested in taking the instrument apart to see how it worked) didn’t fit the Ramon “mold” and therefore deserved to be looked at with dull contempt.

So…maybe a husband—a husband who “got” him, a husband who adored him—really _was_ the only family he needed?

Cisco shifted in bed but maintained the distance between them. He’d only been trying to turn down sex; after the day he’d had, cuddling would have actually been nice. With how snippy he’d been acting, though, he could understand why Eobard thought that he was rejecting physical contact entirely. He felt like he should apologize, but he wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words.

So he didn’t. He just laid there until sleep finally—mercifully—claimed him.

***

**Cisco hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Why bother? At best, they would have told him that it was a bad idea, that any non-essential interactions could have unforeseen consequences. At worst, one (or more) of them would have figured out** **_why_ ** **he needed to go down there so badly. And he’d been keeping that secret for literal years; contrary to popular belief, he was capable of** **_not_ ** **screwing things up every once in a while.**

**So he walked down to the pipeline. And when he got in front of the metal security door, he only hesitated for a moment before hitting the touchpad to bring Eobard Thawne’s prison cell front and center. He told himself that it would be simple, that it would be almost like talking to a stranger—he’d only seen the man’s real face for a minute, after all. But the moment that the door opened and he saw that yellow suit, he forgot the script he’d been planning to recite.**

**It would have been easier if Thawne’s eyes had been brown or even green. But they were blue, and there was something so goddamn** **_familiar_ ** **about them.**

**(“Look at me, Cisco. You’re so beautiful like this,” he’d said one night, when they’d been alone together for the first time in nearly a week. And, even though direct eye contact during intimate encounters often made Cisco uncomfortable or self-conscious, he** **_had_ ** **looked at him. Looked at those blue eyes and felt small and safe and valuable.)**

**Thawne scrambled to his feet, meeting Cisco’s gaze with a somewhat bewildered expression. And because it would have been stupid to just stand there, Cisco said the first thing that popped into his head: “How’d you get your suit in your ring?”**

**Eobard continued to stare at him. There was confusion all over his handsome features, and after hesitating for a second, he said, “Who are you?”**

**The question made bile rise up in Cisco’s throat. Somehow, those three words were far more biting than any barb or taunt that the man in yellow could have thrown out to get under Cisco’s skin on purpose. But Cisco tried not to let that show on his face. “My name is Cisco Ramon.”**

**“And we know each other well, don’t we? We have a history together.” The second sentence had been conjecture, but the uncertain expression on his face made it seem more like another question.**

**Ha. Ha ha. ‘A history together.’ Cisco wasn’t sure whether he should roll his eyes or scream. “You could say that.” And he half-hoped that Thawne would understand what he was getting at.**

**Thawne played dumb. Or maybe he was refusing to acknowledge the implication. Regardless, he didn’t ask for clarification, but he didn’t speculate, either. “And that’s** **_all_ ** **you want to know? How I got my suit in my ring?”**

**No, of course it wasn’t all he wanted to know. Cisco wanted to know everything. Every-freaking-thing. He wanted to know if Thawne had already decided what would happen between them when he first hired Cisco and brought him into the labs. He wanted to know if anything Thawne had said—the promises he’d made, the secrets he’d confided, the terms of endearment he’d whispered—had been true, or if all of it had been nothing but an act. He wanted to know if having a different face changed the way Thawne tasted.**

**But he couldn’t say any of that, because** **_this_ ** **Thawne hadn’t actually done anything yet. And because you should never ask a question you might not be able to handle the answer to.**

**“I want** **_you_ ** **to know that I’m the one who figured out you were back,” Cisco taunted as he took a few more steps forward. “I helped stop you. Me.” He pointed to himself for emphasis. It was critical for Thawne to understand that Cisco had the upper hand, here.**

**_Aren’t you proud of me? Aren’t you amazed?_ ** **He could never manage to beat Thawne at chess, but perhaps this was close enough?**

**“And how'd you do that?”**

**“I have powers. And I helped track you down, and I put you in here.”**

**Thawne glanced around for a moment, taking in his surroundings. When his gaze returned to Cisco’s face, he looked almost impressed. “That's…quite the ability you've been given.”**

**The compliment, which may have been completely sarcastic for all Cisco knew, almost made him fall apart. Was it this obvious to** **_everyone_ ** **that Cisco needed praise and comfort like everyone else needed light, or did Thawne just have a knack for taking him apart?**

**He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to split the difference and strangle Thawne while they had sex. Or let Thawne strangle** **_him_ ** **while they had sex, because they both knew that that was what Cisco deserved.**

**Cisco’s voice broke. “And here’s what’s so ironic about it: you gave me these powers.”**

**Thawne tilted his head in confusion but remained silent.**

**“Have fun thinking about that while you rot away in this cell that you helped me build.”**

**Cisco would have been happy if Thawne had responded by sneering at him, spitting at him, or even threatening to kill him slowly and painfully once he escaped from confinement. Thawne could have done something,** **_anything_ ** **, to express contempt, and it would have been a relief. But Thawne simply continued to watch him, clearly fascinated by the strange, emotional young man in front of him. His mouth curled into the smallest hint of a smug smile.**

**Suddenly, Cisco realized that he’d been wrong. He** **_didn’t_ ** **have the upper hand. Thawne hadn’t been impressed with Cisco’s genius and ingenuity. Instead, he’d simply been intrigued by how much he seemed to matter to Cisco. The knowledge that, one day, he’d be so deep in Cisco’s head that Cisco couldn’t resist an opportunity to see him (even under the guise of gloating) was utterly captivating.**

**Wonderful. Perfect. Cisco had tried to come across as powerful and intimidating, and instead, he’d just seemed totally pathetic.**

**He wasn’t sure if there was any way to turn the conversation around. Probably not, based on the self-satisfied look in Thawne’s eyes. The only thing left to do, then, was to try to leave with what was left of his dignity intact. “Bye, Felicia,” Cisco quipped, wishing—not for the first time in his life—that he was better at coming up with exit lines.**

**He hit the touchscreen button to pull down the metal door, sending Thawne out of sight. If there had been a button to get Thawne out of his head, he would have pushed that, too.**

***

When Cisco’s eyes snapped open, his cheeks were wet with tears. He sat up abruptly, disoriented, fully expecting to be on a cot in the cortex.

_Wait, no_ … he thought, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. His brain felt like an Etch-a-Sketch that was currently being shaken clean. Eobard’s office had a _couch_ tucked against one wall. So why was he thinking of a hospital cot? And why was he sleeping at the labs, anyway?

But he _wasn’t_ at the labs. As he blinked his eyes, the bedroom he shared with Eobard slowly came into focus. It was dark, but he could just make out the TV, dresser, and few paintings and other knick-knacks that decorated the place. And Eobard himself was there, too, sleeping next to him on the king-sized bed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

_It was just a dream,_ Cisco realized, wiping his eyes again. For some reason, though, he was still crying. Was it because of the fight he’d had with Eobard before they went to sleep?

Yes, it must have been, because seeing him like that had been devastating. Eobard had lied, had used Cisco, had done so many terrible things while pretending to be one of the good guys—

_Huh? What?_

No, no, no—that was wrong. He and Eobard had argued because Cisco had gone to Saints and Sinners with Mark Mardon, and the conversation had turned into an accusation that Cisco allowed himself to be a doormat. And then Eobard had wanted to fool around, and Cisco had turned him down, and Eobard had gotten annoyed and put about an acre of space between them.

It was a stupid, trivial fight that they might not even acknowledge in the morning; if they did, they’d probably just chalk it up to both of them being tired and grumpy and saying things that they didn’t really mean. Not a big deal, especially in the grand scheme of things.

So why, then, could he not stop crying? Why did he feel so completely, utterly distraught? Why was he sitting there, seriously wondering if Eobard had ever actually loved him or if their whole relationship was a means to an end?

Because of the dream, of course. That weird dream he’d been having right before he jerked awake. He could visualize the pipeline entrance, feel the touchpad under his fingers, and smell the recirculated air of the enclosed facility.

**Eobard’s yellow suit. Eobard’s voice. Eobard’s smirk. Cisco’s anger, Cisco’s longing, Cisco’s self-loathing…**

Crying had made his throat feel dry, and he was half-worried that Eobard would suddenly wake up and find him sniffling like a toddler. So quietly, carefully, Cisco got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. After getting a drink of water from his sink, he leaned against the countertop, letting his forehead rest against the mirror. He was leaving smudges on the freshly-cleaned glass, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Nothing about his most recent dream had made sense. Why hadn’t Eobard known who he was? Why was Eobard wearing that weird costume? Why had Cisco claimed to have powers? And what on earth had Eobard done—could he have _possibly_ done—to make Cisco think that he didn’t truly love him?

**_He lied. He betrayed us. He killed me._ **

Cisco grabbed a tissue from the box on his side of the bathroom counter and rubbed his eyes and nose with more force than was necessary. _That’s wrong_ , he told himself. _Now you’re mixing the two stupid dreams together. Because_ you’re _stupid._

One time, a celebrity gossip blog had captioned a photo of him and Eobard together at a Star City charity gala with, “World-renowned physicist and S.T.A.R. Labs CEO Eobard Thawne watches the festivities with Cisco Ramon, his companion for the evening.” Eobard had personally contacted the owner of the blog and demanded that she change the caption to refer to Cisco as “his fiancé and S.T.A.R. Labs head of R&D.” He’d also told her, on no uncertain terms, that if anyone affiliated with her blog ever again implied that Cisco was some kind of paid escort, she’d be hearing from his attorney on Cisco’s behalf. Defamation of character was a little tricky to prove in a court of law, but that wouldn’t stop him from tying her up in litigation for the next decade. Within a few hours, the caption got changed, and the article was updated with an apology for any confusion or offense that the writer’s “poor choice of words” may have caused.

Yes, Eobard was all about grand gestures. And small gestures. And passionate sex, too, when Cisco wasn’t feeling too tired (or petty) to put out.

_That’s not the kind of thing that a person who’s ‘just pretending’ does. How could you doubt him like that?_ He was still rubbing his eyes and nose with the tissue, like he could physically wipe away the discomfort polluting his mind.

**_He lied._ **

_What did he lie about?_

**_Something important. Something bad. Something he was willing to kill me over. I just don’t remember what it was._ **

He glanced down at the tissue in his hand and realized with a start that there was a splotch or two of blood on it. He could only guess that he’d been rubbing his nose so hard that he’d broken the skin. His cheeks felt a bit raw, too.

The blood spots were a stark illustration that he was acting completely irrational and he really, _really_ needed to pump the brakes before he drove himself insane. He walked over to the water closet, threw the tissue into the toilet, and flushed it away, destroying the only physical evidence of his mini-breakdown. If Eobard saw him like this, it would lead to yet another uncomfortable conversation. And he absolutely hated the idea of disappointing his fiancé any more than he already had.

_It was a dream._ He took a deep breath. _Let it go._

Cisco walked back to his side of the bathroom counter, grabbed his favorite moisturizer, and used his fingers to dab a little of the cream on his face. If he couldn’t have a healthy mind, then by God, he’d at least have healthy skin. And he’d look handsome (and feel soft) for the man who’d invited Cisco into his life, home, and bed.

Speaking of whom, Cisco noticed when he left the bathroom that, despite Eobard’s location when they’d said goodnight, he was no longer very far away from the side where Cisco slept. That wasn’t too uncommon; it seemed that both Cisco and Eobard had a habit of “migrating” towards the middle of the mattress (and towards each other) while they slept. He’d laughed the first time he noticed it, relieved that he didn’t have to worry about getting shoved out of bed and onto the floor in the middle of the night…or, worse, dealing with the embarrassment of accidentally shoving his bedmate onto the floor.

Eobard was still fast asleep as Cisco slipped back into bed, his blonde hair disheveled and his pale skin practically glowing in the darkness of their room. One of the sheets had slipped down to his waist, leaving his bare arms, chest and back visible. When Cisco reached out and touched his cheek, he stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes.

_If you overthink things, you’ll just screw it all up._

Cisco didn’t like being the big spoon, but he fell into that position anyway, hooking one arm around his fiancé’s chest and letting his face rest between the man’s shoulder blades. Eobard used expensive, imported South Korean body wash and moisturizer every time he showered, and Cisco had grown accustomed to getting a whiff of the combination when they were in close proximity.

**_That scent hadn’t lingered on the suit_ ** **. He’d sniffed the material one time after everyone else had gone home because he was feeling lonely, but all he’d smelled was leather and lycra…**

Cisco frowned. Had _that_ scene been part of a different dream, one that he was only now recalling? Or had it happened in real life? The yellow suit might have been a Halloween costume, or maybe it was something Eobard had bought to indulge in some of Cisco’s nerdier fantasies…

But after several seconds of racking his brain, he had to admit that he was stumped. He’d definitely seen that suit before, but he had no idea where.

**_“Oh, I guess you don’t remember…that_ ** **.** ** _”_   **He could hear Leonard Snart’s condescending drawl in his mind so clearly that the man might as well have been in the room with him.

Cisco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find solace in what he _did_ remember…or, at least, what he _thought_ he remembered. Telling the difference was between the two was starting to become frighteningly difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cisco. His dream in this chapter is my take on his encounter with Eobard in Flash S02E11: “The Reverse-Flash Returns.” And my music of choice when I got stuck writing this chapter was Dvixer’s “You Must Remember,” because seriously, what an amazing song…
> 
> Important note, just in case there's some confusion: Cisco was actually NOT being unreasonable or unfair when he rejected Eobard’s advances; it’s totally normal to not feel particularly amorous after your partner upsets you the way Eobard upset him, and Eobard was the one being petty. But this whole story is told from Doomworld!Cisco’s POV, and the guy has some serious issues with his self-esteem and asserting boundaries—something that Eobard is quite happy to take advantage of. Also, Cisco’s real problems with his parents and brother notwithstanding, pushing someone to stop talking to their family is another common tactic employed by abusers. After all, the more isolated a person is, the easier they are to control. :(


	4. Thrilling Thursday, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ya know, Len called a few minutes ago to ask where I was, and I said I was here and told him what happened. He said you might be feeling screwed up because you found a…a centurion.”
> 
> “What are you talking about?” Cisco asked. He was completely lost.
> 
> Mick snorted. “It’s when there’s two things and they cancel each other out. It’s one way to tell if someone’s a hypocrite. Or a liar.”
> 
> “Do…do you mean a ‘contradiction?’” Cisco said.

On Thursday morning, Cisco became convinced that he had to talk to Mick Rory.

The idea came to him after he decided that he _needed_ to know when and why he had built the cold and heat guns. His nightmares and feelings of discontent had started after Leonard Snart had pointed out this hole in his memory, so it stood to reason that maybe, just maybe, recovering that forgotten knowledge was the key to feeling better. He wasn’t sure _why_ it was so important, of course. But this had become his white whale.

His little tête-à-tête with Snart at Saints and Sinners had made it clear to Cisco that Snart was _not_ going to help him—not without Cisco compromising his fidelity to Eobard, anyway. That left Mick as his only viable source of information. And maybe that was for the best? Cisco was fairly certain that Mick wasn’t as stupid as everyone assumed that he was, but he definitely wasn’t as conniving as Snart. It would probably be easier to get information out of him than it would be to interrogate his partner, and Mick was always much more straight-forward, anyway. Mick was also food-motivated, and Cisco happened to have an entire drawer of snacks in his desk. Advantage: Ramon.

So, when he got to work, he checked up on the rest of his department like he always did, but directly afterward, he walked to his office and shut the door. He got out his tablet, pulled up the new code for the cold gun that he’d been chipping away at for the last few days, and added some finishing touches. Then, with the slight thrill that nearly always accompanies making a mess on purpose, he pulled up the code for Mick’s heat gun, made some adjustments, and pushed through a software update on both weapons.

About two hours later, his phone rang—not his office phone, but his personal cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but he had a feeling he knew who it was. Cisco hit ‘talk’ and brought the STARphone to his ear. “Hello? Cisco Ramon speaking.”

“Hey,” said a deep, gravelly voice on the other end. “My gun’s not working.”

“Sorry, who is this?” Cisco said, playing dumb.

“Santa Claus. Who the hell do you think it is, kid?”

“Mick? Mick Rory?” Cisco said, still pretending to be surprised. Then, with a bit of genuine confusion, he added, “Wait, how did you get my cell phone number?”

“Snart had it,” Mick replied shortly, and Cisco thought that his explanation raised more questions than it answered. “So…my gun suddenly stopped working. Len got an update on his, so did you screw up mine, somehow?”

“Huh. I don’t think so? Lemme check the code real quick.” Cisco held the phone with his shoulder and randomly tapped on his computer keyboard for a few seconds—he wanted his act to be convincing. After a while, he finally said, “That’s weird, I’m not seeing anything wrong on my end. You sure it’s not a mechanical issue?”

“I took the stupid thing apart and put it back together again. If there’s a problem with the gun itself, I don’t see it.”

Cisco inhaled through his teeth, trying to sound concerned. “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to take a look at it, then. Any chance you could swing by my office today? I’ll be at S.T.A.R. Labs until 6 p.m.” He was actually planning to stay until 6:30 at least, but he knew better than to enable people to come see him at the last second.

“You _really_ need to see it?”

“Uh-huh. That’s the only way I can figure out whether it’s a software or hardware problem.”

“Fine,” Mick grunted. “I’ll tell Snart that we’ve gotta go over there today.”

“No!” Cisco said, more loudly than he’d intended. He forced himself to lower his voice. “I mean, you don’t need to bring Snart along if his gun is working fine. Things are actually a little awkward between him and me right now, because…well…”

“’Cuz you won’t sleep with him?” Mick rumbled.

Cisco cringed. “Yeah, because I…rejected him. So could you please just come alone?”

“Fine. See you later, kid.” He then hung up before Cisco could say goodbye.

Cisco put his phone down and, after hesitating for a second, tried to busy himself with a new project. He also reassured himself that he did not need to tell Eobard that he was planning to meet with Mick and ask him about the guns, even though his chosen course of action felt a bit like a lie of omission.

If Eobard had been upset that morning over their quarrel the previous evening, he certainly hadn’t shown it. He’d been his normal, affectionate self while he and Cisco got ready to head to the Labs, even casually reminding Cisco before their usual goodbye kiss that he had a meeting with the city council (and therefore would be away from his office) around noon. It was very likely that he, upon waking up to find Cisco cuddled up with him, figured that his fiancé was no longer feeling standoffish and wanted to start Thursday with a clean slate.

Cisco imagined that if he told Eobard what he was up to, Eobard would ask him why he was so obsessed with pursing this mystery, and Cisco would inevitably wind up telling him about his _other_ weird dream—the one that had resulted in a crying fit instead of severe vomiting. And that might lead to rehashing their fight. Or, worse, Eobard might be tempted to meddle and make it look like Cisco couldn’t handle his own problems.

No, it was better to just keep his fiancé in the dark. He’d talk to Mick privately and try get the information he wanted. If it worked, great. If not…well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

The only thing was that he really, really wished that Mick had told him _when_ he was planning to come to the labs—even if it was something relatively vague, like, “Before lunch,” or “After four o’clock.” Because he had no idea when the man would arrive, he was essentially tethered to his office all day. He’d probably wind up having his lunch delivered to his desk and only leave the room to run to the lavatory or resolve serious problems in the department.

He considered, briefly, texting Mick to ask if he had an ETA, but he didn’t want to come across as annoying or overly persistent. He also wasn’t sure if Mick Rory was a fan of texting; some people were weird about that.

In the end, he decided to set an alarm on his phone for 3 p.m. If Mick hadn’t visited by then, he would call him and ask if he was still planning to come by. That seemed like a reasonable duration to wait before reaching out to him once more. It would also help prevent Cisco from watching the time all day and stressing about the whole affair.

…Well, stressing more than he already was, anyway. He’d had a small feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach since he woke up that morning.

***

The clock on his desk was almost showing 1 p.m. when Brie poked her head into his office. “Hey, Cisco? Could you help me with something real quick?”

“What is it?” Cisco asked, looking up from a schematic he’d been reviewing while he chewed on the end of a ballpoint pen. His snack stash had been out of both stick candy and lollipops, and felt like he needed to have _something_ in his mouth to calm his nerves.

“I’ve gotta load stuff into my car for the showcase at CCU this afternoon. Lindsay was supposed to help me, but since we’re now gonna rendezvous there instead of riding together, I’m by myself. And everyone else is busy right now.”

“I’m actually waiting to meet with someone. Can’t you get one of the security guards to help? They’ll probably be able to lift more stuff than I can, anyway.”

Brie grunted. “C’mon, it’ll take, like, 10 minutes. And I don’t want to bother the security guards with something like this.”

Cisco glanced at the clock again. 12:55. Mick had called at 11:06; what were the odds that he’d show up in the few minutes that Cisco was away from his desk, get annoyed, and leave before Cisco got back?

Statistically, it wasn’t very likely. But given Cisco’s luck, it _could_ very easily happen.

“Alright, fine,” Cisco said. He grabbed a piece of scratch paper from somewhere in the mess on his desk, folded it in half, and used the pen he’d previously been chewing on to write “BACK IN 15 MINUTES” in large letters on one side. He perched it on the front of his desk like a nameplate and then stood up. “Don’t make me a liar. Let’s go.”

The good news was that the things Brie needed help carrying (a few display banners, some tech, and a couple boxes stuffed with brochures and S.T.A.R. Labs promotional material) weren’t very heavy, especially since Brie had grabbed a hand truck so she wouldn’t have to make multiple trips. But the load was definitely unwieldy, and Cisco had to admit that lugging it around really was a two-person job.

As he and Brie stood inside the elevator with boxes between them, Brie said, “So, who’re you meeting with today, anyway? Prospective new hire?”

“Nah, Mick Rory’s coming by so I can look at his gun,” Cisco said. The doors opened and the two of them stepped out. “And that’s not a euphemism—the heat gun he carries around stopped working.”

“Ooh, Mick Rory? The one who’s always with Leonard Snart?” Brie said, turning to Cisco so abruptly that she nearly whacked him with a rolled-up poster in her arms. “Will he be by himself today?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You should have told me!” Brie said. Her face parted into a very eager grin, the ferocity of which unnerved Cisco a bit. “That guy is a _major_ babe.”

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Snart and Hartley, you and Mick…am I running an R&D Department or a freakin’ dating service?”

“Hey, the heart wants what it wants…and _my_ heart wants a big, strong beast. I’ll bet he could bench press both of us at the same time.” She giggled. “Is it weird that I kinda want to watch him fight somebody?”

Cisco stared at her. “You want to watch him beat someone up? Yeah, that is _weird_.”

Brie made a face. “That’s not what I said. Ugh, never mind. You’re no fun.”

They exited S.T.A.R. Labs proper through a side door, which deposited them into one of the facility’s lesser-used exterior pathways. A set of concrete stairs descended towards the curb and loading zone, and beyond that, there was a roadway that led to an area for employee parking. Cisco himself had parked in that lot when he first started working at S.T.A.R. Labs, but since he’d been promoted to department head, he’d been granted an “executive” parking space that was much closer to the building’s main entrance.

(Cisco was seriously thinking about officially signing the space over to Hartley; he really only used it when he drove himself to the labs, and since he’d moved in with Eobard, that translated to “the rare Saturday when he stopped by to meet a deadline, get extra work done, or retrieve something that he’d accidentally left behind on Friday evening.” Then again, giving the space to Hartley would just feed the man’s ego, and there was a very real possibility that it might make him go mad with power.)

His musings on the S.T.A.R. Labs parking situation were interrupted by Brie making an observation about their surroundings: “Oh, crap—there’s no ramp here, is there? If we can’t use the hand truck, we’re gonna have to carry the boxes down the stairs one-by-one.”

Cisco exhaled sharply. He was seriously starting to regret agreeing to help her with this project. “It’s fine. I’ll just…I’ll count it as my cardio for the day.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Brie murmured, digging around in her purse. She pulled out a set of car keys that were attached to a small, crocheted keychain in the shape of a honeybee. “I’ll go get my car and bring it over here. Just sit tight and guard the boxes until I get back.”

“Yeah, fine,” Cisco said, knowing full well that, if a crazed mugger ran up to him and tried to steal a carton of S.T.A.R. Labs pamphlets, he wouldn’t actually do anything about it. “Just…hurry, okay? I need to get back to my office ASAP.”

“I am definitely _not_ wearing the right shoes for running, but fine—I’ll do my best.” She then walked down the stairs and trotted off in the direction of the parking lot.

Cisco, for his part, sat down on top of one of the more densely-packed (and heavy) boxes. He checked the time on his phone; it was now 1:06.

As eager as he was to talk to Mick, he actually had no idea what he was going to say to him when the man arrived. He’d probably start out with some techno-babble in order to sell the lie that he didn’t know why the gun was malfunctioning, but he could only stall for so long—especially since Mick apparently had a vague idea of how the gun worked already. But was it better to be subtle (“Jeez, it seems like only yesterday that I was assembling this thing in my workshop! How long has it really been, though?”) or just be direct (“I can’t remember when or why I built the heat and cold guns; if you know, I need you to tell me before I check myself into a psyche ward.”)? There was also the very real possibility that Snart may have told Mick that Cisco had been asking questions and, subsequently, Snart’s partner was already under orders to not give him any information. How many treats would it take to get him to talk, then? Would candy and snacks be enough, or would he have to break out the big guns?

…The “big guns,” in this case, translated to the bottle of premium scotch and set of tumblers that Cisco knew Eobard secretly kept in his office. It would be easy enough to smuggle them out of the cortex if he made his move before his fiancé got back to the labs, but returning them before their absence was noticed (or he was caught with them) would be a little tricky…

He was just picturing himself walking out of the cortex with the pilfered alcohol in his hands and hissing, _“You saw nothing!”_ at Bob when he spotted Brie’s yellow VW Beetle pulling up to the loading area. To his surprise, though, when Brie stopped the car, the passenger door opened, and Mick Rory stepped out. Mick was a bit hunched over, probably because he was a large fellow and Brie’s car was tiny, but it was definitely him. Cisco could only assume that Brie had spotted Mick in the parking lot and offered to drive him over to where she and Cisco were going to be loading the boxes. And Mick had taken her up on the offer, since he was there to see Cisco, anyway.

(Of course, that meant that Mick had parked his vehicle in the _employee_ lot, but Mick seemed like the kind of guy who would do that and then dare someone to give him crap for it.)

Brie stepped out of the driver’s side and began chattering to Mick; Cisco couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but knowing Brie, she was probably turning on the charm. Sure enough, as she popped the hatch on her car, he saw her very deliberately toss her hair and smile demurely. Mick didn’t seem put-off by the gesture, but he didn’t seem to be flirting back, either.

Cisco stood up from his makeshift chair in order to watch them both more closely. He wasn’t used to seeing Mick without Snart, and for some reason, it was a little more uncanny than seeing Snart without Mick. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever had a one-on-one conversation with him before today.

“Hey, Cisco!” Brie called from her position on the curb. “Look who I found!”

Well, there was one time that Mick had seen Hartley flirting with Snart in the community workroom, looked at Cisco, and then pantomimed sucking a dick, which had made Cisco laugh so hard that he spat orange soda all over his tablet. Then, there was the time that Mick had recognized one of knick-knacks in Cisco’s office as a scale model of _Thunderbird 3_ and commented vaguely that, while he “hated puppets,” those old ‘supermarionation’ shows weren’t completely awful. And, of course, there was that one incident in which Mick had punched him, and Snart’s sister had had to intervene…

Cisco froze. _What the hell?_ Where had _that_ fun little fantasy come from? And it _was_ a fantasy, because it hadn’t actually happened. Had it?

“Hey, Cisco?” For some reason, Brie’s voice sounded far away. “You okay?”

No, it must have happened, because he very clearly remembered the feeling of Mick’s fists on his skin, as well as the man’s angry roars. Something had set him off, and Cisco tried to take a swing at him in self-defense, but he’d missed and gotten decked in the face for his efforts. And Snart had walked in on the beat-down and tried to get Mick to stop, but Mick wouldn’t, and it wasn’t until after Lisa suggested getting some dinner that the man’s rage finally subsided.

Was that why he knew that Mick was food-motivated? Because Lisa—

_Wait, when did Snart tell me his sister’s name?_ Cisco thought, interrupting himself. Ideas were crashing around his mind like bumper cars, and he could hardly think through the cacophony. Snart had definitely mentioned having a sister the previous night, but he hadn’t said her name. So how…why…?

He tasted iron on his lip.

“Whoa, uh, Cisco…you’re bleeding,” Brie said, and even though she still sounded far away, he could sense concern in her voice.

Cisco looked down at her, taking a moment to register what she’d said, and then swiped at his philtrum with his fingers. The digits came back streaked with blood. Without any forethought, Cisco wiped them on his pants. He imagined his father yelling at him for staining his clothes and wondered if Eobard would have a similar reaction.

At the foot of the stairs, Mick gazed up at him. The man looked confused. And maybe a tiny bit concerned. Did he know what was going on? Could he help?

As Cisco’s legs buckled and his vision tunneled out, he was vaguely aware of the fact that he didn’t know _what_ , exactly, he wanted Mick to help him with. Just that he needed help.

***

S.T.A.R. Labs had an urgent care medical facility on-site.

Years ago, a handful of investors (and their attorneys) had convinced Eobard Thawne that this was necessary. Their logic was that a place wherein employees regularly handled dangerous chemicals, revolutionary tech, and powerful tools _needed_ an area where they could go to have work-related burns, lacerations, and other wounds treated immediately. The medical wing didn’t have the same capabilities as a fully functional hospital or specialty clinic, of course. But if someone accidentally sliced their hand on a broken test tube or couldn’t breathe due to toxic fume inhalation, it was usually a relief to just go to the medical wing instead of having to go all the way to Central City Hospital—especially if the injury was bad enough to warrant a ride in an ambulance. Plus, keeping things in-house helped simplify insurance and workers’ comp issues.

Cisco had always known that a day would come when he’d wake up in the medical wing, having suffered some kind of traumatic injury. However, he’d figured that it would be right after something epic happened, like an explosion in his workshop, or a fire in the building, or maybe even an armed robbery by thugs trying to steal top-secret tech. Never in a million years would he have guessed that his first emergency clinic visit would begin with something as mundane as walking out to the parking lot.

He also hadn’t anticipated waking up to Mick Rory sitting by his bedside. But sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Mick shoveling graham crackers—straight out of the box—into his mouth.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake. Guess you’re not brain-dead?” Mick said casually, and an unreasonable amount of crumbs tumbled out of his mouth along with his words. It wasn’t immediately obvious where he’d gotten the crackers; Cisco could only assume that either Mick had found the snacks in a drawer and helped himself, or he’d just complained loudly that he was hungry until someone offered them up. Either way, there was a good chance that he was going to polish off the whole box before he left.

“Guess not,” Cisco said, although the throbbing pain in his head was making him wish he was. As far as he could tell, the ache was localized a little above the parietal ridge on the right side of his skull. “What happened? And what time is it?”

“You started bleeding from your nose, and then you fell down the stairs and whacked your head. Blondie With The Big Hair got me to carry you up here,” Mick rumbled. “She had to go to that showcase thingy, so she asked if I’d stay with you until they could get ahold of Thawne.” He glanced at his wrist momentarily. “And it’s 1:35.”

“Thanks for that. For everything, I mean,” Cisco blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the fluorescent lights in the medical wing. If it was 1:35, then he’d lost maybe 25 minutes. “By-the-way, Brie Larvan—AKA ‘Blondie With The Big Hair’—likes you.”

“She does?” Mick said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Yeah. Her exact words were ‘major babe.’”

“Hmmm.” Mick paused for a second, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I’d hit that.” He attacked another cracker. “So, why was your nose bleeding, kid? You get into a fight?”

“Yeah, and you should see the other guy,” Cisco replied automatically. He sighed. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure if it was _a guy_ who punched you? You think it might’ve been a huge chick?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know why my nose was bleeding,” Cisco groaned. “Dunno why I fainted, either. I’ve been feeling really out of it lately. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“You came down those stairs pretty quick.”

Again, Cisco groaned. “I’m sure I did.”

“Well, don’t cough on me.” Mick looked out the window for a moment and then said, “Ya know, Len called a few minutes ago to ask where I was, and I said I was here and told him what happened. He said you might be feeling screwed up because you found a…a centurion.”

“What are you talking about?” Cisco asked. He was completely lost. Was this a side effect of the head trauma?

Mick snorted. “It’s when there’s two things and they cancel each other out. It’s one way to tell if someone’s a hypocrite. Or a liar.”

“Do…do you mean a ‘contradiction?’” Cisco said.

“Yeah, that’s it. Sometimes, when I try to say big words, they don’t come out right. Doesn’t happen when I’m writing, though, which is weird.” Mick went back to looking at the window. “Anyway, Len says you found one of those things. He thinks it broke your brain.” He shrugged. “It sounds more like a plot hole to me, though. And that’s something different.”

Cisco stared at him. “I don’t under—”

“WHERE IS HE?!” Eobard’s voice came thundering across the medical wing, so loudly—and so angrily—that Cisco jolted in surprise. He sat up in bed quickly, trying to find the source of the noise, but all that earned him was a fresh stab of pain in his skull. He flopped back down on the pillow.

“Mr. Thawne, sir, if you’ll please calm down—” That was probably the doctor-on-duty, though if he thought that his title gave him authority over the situation, he’d obviously forgotten whose signature was on his paychecks.

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Eobard yelled. “I WANT TO KNOW WHY IT TOOK 20 MINUTES FOR SOMEONE TO CALL ME ABOUT MY FIANCÉ RECEIVING EMERGENCY MEDICAL CARE! I SHOULD FIRE EVERYONE WORKING THIS SHIFT!”

“Honey, please stop yelling,” Cisco managed to call out. “My head hurts already.”

“Cisco!” There was a sound of pounding footsteps, and suddenly, Eobard was by his side. “ _There_ you are! Are you alright? Are you comfortable? Did you say your head hurts? I’ll tell the doctor to give you more painkillers.”

Cisco sighed, embarrassed. “Eobard, I love you, but I need you to take it down a notch. You’re freaking out over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Eobard snapped, grabbing Cisco’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “You have a head injury! Speaking of which…” his gaze turned to Mick. “…thank you for staying with him. You can leave now.”

Mick hesitated, and Cisco couldn’t help but wonder if the man understood Eobard’s thinly-veiled insult. But eventually, he stood up and shrugged. “Text me if you figure out the problem with my gun, kid,” he said to Cisco. Then he wandered off, the box of crackers still clutched in his hand.

For some reason, Cisco was a little sad to see him go. But he had bigger fish to fry in that moment—namely, making sure that his fiancé didn’t go nuts on anyone else. “Yes, it _is_ nothing,” Cisco said to Eobard. “I fell down the stairs and bumped my head. It stings and I’m probably gonna have a really ugly knot on my scalp for a while, but I’m not dying.”

Eobard frowned. “But it’s not like you just tripped or slipped. Apparently, you started bleeding from your nose and then you fainted?”

“Yeah, and before that, I’d been sitting down. I probably stood up too fast and got dizzy.”

“Does that happen often?” said a familiar voice. “Oh, and this should help with the pain and swelling.”

Cisco sat up again, doing his best to go slowly this time. Caitlin Snow was standing in front of them, wearing a white coat and a concerned expression. She looked very doctorly indeed, and Cisco tried to reconcile this image of her with the hyper-competitive, smiling, laughing woman he’d seen at his and Eobard’s pool party a few weeks ago. She was also holding an ice pack in one hand, which Cisco was happy to accept. As he pressed the cold bag to his head, he replied, “Uh, sometimes? Not so much that it’s a problem, though. Like, a week ago, I tried to get up from the couch after I’d been sitting down for a while, and I dropped right back down in my seat.”

“I see. Now, just out of curiosity, was that during one of your eleven-and-a-half-hour _Lord of the Rings_ extended edition marathons?” Caitlin asked, and there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Cisco stuck his tongue out at her when he realized that she was teasing him, even though he was secretly relieved to see the Caitlin he knew and loved (and the ice she’d brought him really did feel nice). Eobard’s demeanor softened slightly, too. “Hello, Dr. Snow,” he said. “Please tell me that you _just_ got here.”

Caitlin nodded. “I just walked in the door. I’m actually supposed to be doing lab work today, but Dr. Smith paged me and told me to get my butt to the clinic, so I rushed over as soon as I could. Honestly, I didn’t know that Cisco had gotten hurt until I was walking down the hallway and I heard you shouting about your fiancé.”

Eobard nodded. “Well, it’s nice to know that I still have at least one competent doctor on staff.” He glanced around. “Where did Dr. Smith even go? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Oh, he…uh…he left for the day,” Caitlin said, grimacing—she seemed to be predicting that this news would set her boss off once again. “I mean, he has seniority, and he probably felt that I’d be better suited to take care of Cisco, anyway, since we’re friends,” she added quickly.

“‘Probably?’”

“Well…he kind of just shoved Cisco’s chart into my hands and said, ‘You deal with Mr. Thawne’s fiancé; I’m going home,’” Caitlin admitted, still looking uncomfortable.

“That’s completely unacceptable,” Eobard snarled. “He’s fired. And I’m notifying every medical facility from here to Ivy Town about his poor judgement. When I’m through with him, he’ll be lucky to get a job as an elementary school nurse.”

“Eobard…” Cisco started.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t deride school nurses. They’re pretty good at their jobs, unlike that asshole.”

Cisco exhaled, turning to Caitlin. “As long as you’re treating me, please don’t let Eobard intimidate you. He’s just a bit…overprotective.”

“It’s okay,” Caitlin said, smiling. “I know _my_ husband’s the exact same way.”

“Yes, Ronnie’s a good man,” Eobard commented stiffly, as if to prove that he was capable of being civil. “It was nice talking to him yesterday at the department meeting; it seems like I don’t see him as much as I used to.”

Cisco nodded. “Yeah. And Caitlin, Ronnie, and I used do stuff together all the time, until I started feeling a little too third-wheelish. But hey, pretty soon, I’ll be married, too. Then the four of us can all hang out and do boring, married-couple activities as a group.”

“What, like drinking wine and complaining that 10 p.m. is _super late_?” Caitlin asked.

“Exactly. Maybe I’ll even start wearing socks with sandals? And you should get an I’d-like-to-speak-to-your-manager haircut.”

Both of them cackled with laughter, and Eobard rolled his eyes in a good-natured way. But then his expression turned a little more serious. “Dr. Snow, are you a medical doctor or a life coach?”

“Right, right,” Caitlin murmured, taking the hint. She looked at the clipboard in her hands. “So, you said earlier that you only rarely get light-headed when you stand up too fast. That _could_ be what happened in that case; we’ll definitely check your blood pressure and glucose levels.” She glanced up at him. “How has your overall health been lately? Any issues to report?”

Cisco very briefly filled her in on the events of Tuesday night leading into Wednesday morning. He left out his and Eobard’s activities before they went to sleep (because Cisco figured she didn’t need that mental image), and, though he mentioned having “a nightmare,” he didn’t tell her what it was about. “Then, I ran to the bathroom and did a really freakin’ spot-on impression of Regan MacNeil.” When Caitlin raised her eyebrows in confusion, he said, “From _The Exorcist._ I was projectile vomiting—that’s what I mean.”

“Ah, okay.” Caitlin was taking notes. “Did you stay home on Wednesday?”

“No, I actually felt fine when I woke up. Well, I was tired because I didn’t sleep well after I puked my guts out, but I wasn’t nauseous or anything.”

“I see. And how did you sleep last night?”

He was sorely tempted to say, _“On my side, like I normally do.”_ But now didn’t seem like an appropriate time for a joke, so opted to answer seriously. “Well…actually…I woke up in the middle of the night again. And I didn’t sleep very well after that.”

Eobard raised his eyebrows. “You did? First I’ve heard of it.”

Cisco winced. “Well…I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I wasn’t sick, I was just…uncomfortable. You know?” He was still unwilling to talk about the Eobard-in-a-yellow-suit dream, and he told himself that it wasn’t important, anyway.

Eobard continued to look skeptical, but Caitlin said, “Well, that’s good to know. I mean, obviously, it’s not good that you’re having trouble sleeping.” She smiled. “But knowing that information _does_ give me a few ideas for how I can help you.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, I guess that _is_ good,” Cisco said.

“Dr. Snow, could I please have a moment with my fiancé?” Eobard asked. He was being so polite and calm that it was hard to believe that he’d been screaming at that other doctor just a few short minutes ago.

“Oh, sure,” Caitlin said. “I need to get some tests set up, anyway. I’ll be back with you in a few minutes.” She turned and walked away, her high heels click-click-clicking as she did so.

When she was out of earshot, Eobard turned to Cisco. “Cisco, what’s really going on, here? You’ve been acting odd since Tuesday.”

“Nothing.”

“You know, the last time _I_ said that ‘nothing’ was wrong, you didn’t let it go. And I’m not planning to let this go. So _please_ tell me what’s bothering you. I’ll do whatever I can to fix it.”

“I don’t think that there _is_ anything you can do,” Cisco admitted. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe it’s stress? Or maybe I caught some kind of bug and just haven’t let myself slow down long enough to get better.” He took in Eobard’s expression and added, “You look…apprehensive. Why do you look apprehensive?”

Eobard hesitated. Gripping Cisco’s hand, he said quietly, “Alright, I’m just going to ask you point-blank: are you having second thoughts about marrying me?”

“What?” Cisco said, taken aback. “Of course not!” He glanced down at his left hand (the one Eobard wasn’t holding) and half-expected for his engagement ring to be missing. Its absence, and the notion that Cisco might have taken it off deliberately while he and his fiancé were apart, might have explained why Eobard would jump to such a strange conclusion. However, the ring—in all of its red, black, and gold glory—was still exactly where it was supposed to be.

“Because, if you feel like we’re rushing into things, I don’t mind having an extended engagement,” Eobard said quickly. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “I know that we’ve enjoyed a bit of a whirlwind romance, and I sometimes worry that I’m pushing you into too much too soon. You’re so much younger than me, and—”

“Eobard, you beautiful idiot,” Cisco said. “That is definitely not what’s bothering me. In fact, _I’m_ the one who’s been bugging you lately about us needing to finalize a date and hire a planner, remember? Which is why you mention the wedding every time I get annoyed with you and you want to smooth things over?”

“I don’t do that _every_ time,” Eobard said, though his eyes shined with amusement.

“Yeah, sometimes, you just start kissing me instead. Same thing.” Cisco touched the side of Eobard’s face with his free fingertips. “I swear, everything is absolutely fine on the ‘Ciscobard’ front. I’m actually really, _really_ looking forward to being a boring married couple.”

“10 p.m. bedtime and all?”

“Eh, we’ll push it to 10:30.” He squeezed Eobard’s hand. “Seriously, why would you think I don’t want to marry you?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just paranoid. I’m not used to things in my life going so perfectly, so it’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He exhaled. “Oh, and there’s the little fact that your odd behavior started right after you had a nightmare about me murdering you.”

“That was…unfortunate timing. Look, I may not know what’s wrong with me, but there’s one thing that I know for sure: I’m yours, and _only_ yours.”

Eobard managed a weak smile. “And I’m _yours_ , and only yours.” He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but then he seemed to reconsider.

Cisco was pretty sure he knew what Eobard wanted, and he had to fight the urge to laugh. “Come on—out with it.”

Eobard’s smile widened. “Lips, please?”

He did laugh, then, as he gave his fiancé a quick kiss on the mouth.

***

After Cisco had been thoroughly x-rayed, poked, and prodded, Eobard finally accepted Caitlin’s conclusion that Cisco was simply suffering from acute exhaustion and there wasn’t much she could do for him. She did, however, write Cisco a prescription for a few days’ worth of mild sedatives to help him sleep through the night and promised that, if things didn’t improve over the weekend, she’d run more tests or refer him to a full-fledged medical clinic. She also told Cisco to abstain from alcohol consumption and recreational drug use until he was feeling better.

“I don’t really do drugs,” Cisco said dully at that last instruction. He gestured to his fiancé. “But go ahead and test this guy. Just between you and me, I think he’s secretly been abusing ED medication.”

Caitlin looked taken aback for a moment, but when Eobard snorted with laughter, she allowed herself to crack a smile. “You two are too much.” Her professional demeanor returned. “So, based on the tests I ran and the symptoms you self-reported, I’m fairly confident that you _don’t_ have a concussion or a skull fracture. If it’s a choice between you staying here for observation or you going home to an empty house, I’d rather keep you here, just in case. But if you won’t be alone, then I think you’re good to go.”

“I’m taking him home,” Eobard said authoritatively. “ _We_ are going home.”

Cisco winced. “I don’t want for you to have to miss work. I know how busy you are.” He was already feeling guilty that Eobard had cut his meeting with the city council short in order to rush to his bedside, and—

…Wait. Wait, things weren’t adding up…

“Don’t worry about that, Cisco,” Eobard said. “You’re my priority. The city council can work around _my_ schedule for all I care.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “You can do that? Make them work around your schedule, I mean?” She sounded impressed.

Cisco’s mind was racing. The city council was at City Hall, which was downtown. Traffic around that area got especially bad during mid-day.

“Of course I can,” Eobard said with a smug smile. “S.T.A.R. Labs is so important to the local economy that if I walked into a meeting and demanded a footstool made out of gummy worms, Mayor Bellows would just ask if I wanted regular gummy worms or the sour kind.”

Caitlin laughed and made a comment in response, but to Cisco, it just sounded like background noise. He was too busy trying to make sense of something:

_Eobard said that it took 20 minutes for someone to call him_ . _But Mick said that it was 1:35 when I woke up. And if I didn’t get hurt until almost 1:10, that means…_

“Cisco, did you hear me?” Caitlin asked.

Cisco snapped to attention. “Huh?”

“I asked if it was really possible to weave a full-sized footstool out of gummy worms. If anyone knows about the tensile strength of soft candy, it’s you,” Caitlin said. She seemed genuinely intrigued by the prospect.

Cisco stared at her. He really hadn’t been following her conversation with Eobard, and worse, he now couldn’t remember what he’d been mulling over just a second prior. “Uh…maybe? I’d have to do some math. I’ll get back to you on that.”

Eobard laughed. “Do all the math you want. Just know that I’m not buying you a 20-pound bag of gummy worms so that you can build a model—even a _scale_ model. I have to draw a line somewhere, sweetie.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cisco mumbled. _Shit, what was I thinking about just now?_

Eobard’s expression fell slightly. “You’re not even going to argue with me on that? Alright, we _do_ need to get you home.”

Cisco exhaled. Trying to gather his thoughts was pointless. “Yeah, I…sorry. Guess I’m still kind of out of it right now.”

“That’s okay,” Caitlin said kindly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “And, hey, if you’re not feeling up for brunch on Sunday, that’s okay, too—we’ll reschedule. Just let me know, alright?”

“Right, right.” He looked at Eobard. “I need to swing by my office to get my stuff, and then we can go.”

Eobard nodded. “Are you okay to walk?”

“Yes,” Cisco said quickly, somewhat annoyed by how much they were fussing over him—one would think that he’d broken a bone or been exposed to a dangerous toxin. “I don’t need to be carried or anything.”

“From what I heard, that’s actually how you got here,” Caitlin volunteered helpfully. “Mick Rory carried you up from the parking lot.”

“Did he do it bridal-style, piggy-back, or over his shoulder like an old-fashioned sack of flour?” Cisco asked. Then, he huffed in aggravation. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. The images in my head are all equally embarrassing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again: poor Cisco. I feel like I need to write something soft and fluffy for him to make up for all the crap I’m putting him through in this story. His memory of Mick punching him, of course, is from Flash S01E16, “Rogue Time.” The staircase he fell down is the same one he and Hartley went to look at in Flash S01E12, “Crazy for You.” Or maybe it isn’t; I’ve seen every episode of The Flash (most of them more than once) and I’m still a little shaky on how S.T.A.R. Labs is actually laid out…
> 
> Also, a disclaimer: I am not a doctor, and the Arrowverse is a collection of TV shows. I’m fully aware that the way the whole scenario with Cisco’s injury played out is totally unrealistic; in real life, head injuries are actually super serious, especially if they result in a loss of consciousness. I can only ask you to please suspend your disbelief for the sake of drama.
> 
> Comments make me giddy, so don’t hesitate to give me some feedback. :)


	5. Thrilling Thursday, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt a bit odd being home in the middle of the afternoon on a normal weekday. Sure, Cisco occasionally missed work due to illness or personal matters, but lying in bed with Eobard and watching movies was definitely a weekend activity, not a way to pass the time on a Thursday.
> 
> And yet…
> 
> It also felt nice. It was intimate and comfortable and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I was not planning to go a month between updates, but real life got in the way. Also, this part of the story totally kicked my ass. In any case, I can only ask for your patience.
> 
> A quick heads up: there be sexual content (specifically, a hand job and then masturbation) in this chapter. Like in Chapter 1, it’s not terribly explicit; this whole story is supposed to be rated “M”, after all. But, I dunno, maybe hold off on reading this if you’re at work, school, or a house of worship right now? Just a suggestion…
> 
> Once I'm done posting this, I think I'm gonna go through and add chapter summaries and titles, mainly for the purpose of organization--and to make the story less daunting for people just stumbling upon it right now. Obviously, this note doesn't affect you if you're a new reader, but if you've been following this fic from the beginning: you're not imagining things; the summaries and titles ARE new as of May 2, 2019.

When they got home, Eobard insisted that Cisco needed to put on comfortable clothes and get in bed. “Those are your doctor’s orders,” Eobard had said when Cisco made a face. “If you don’t like it, you should complain to Caitlin Snow.”

“She just said that I needed to take it easy,” Cisco groaned. “She didn’t say that I had to go straight to bed!”

“She said you needed to rest,” Eobard shot back. “Look, you don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. But you do need to lie down.”

“I did plenty of that when I was in the medical wing!”

“That doesn’t count!”

“What do you mean, it ‘doesn’t count?!’”

After a few minutes, the compromise they settled on was that Cisco  _ would _ change his clothes and lie down in bed, but Eobard would do the same, and they’d watch a movie. Cisco picked a Spanish romantic comedy that he’d once seen with Caitlin. Eobard grumbled slightly at the prospect of having to read subtitles (“Not all of us are fluent in Spanish,  _ Francisco Ramon _ ,” he’d said, putting extra flair in his pronunciation), but when Cisco batted his eyelashes and pouted in response, he laughed and—seemingly resigned to his fate—put the movie on.

It felt a bit odd being home in the middle of the afternoon on a normal weekday. Sure, Cisco occasionally missed work due to illness or personal matters, but lying in bed with Eobard and watching movies was definitely a  _ weekend _ activity, not a way to pass the time on a Thursday.

And yet…

It also felt nice. It was intimate and comfortable and safe. At one point during the movie, Eobard wrapped his left arm around him and tucked his thumb under the waistband of Cisco’s boxers, but unlike the previous night, it wasn’t an attempt to initiate sex. He just stroked Cisco’s hip as an expression of affection. In return, Cisco played with the two rings on Eobard’s left hand: the engagement band that he wore on his ring finger (visually identical to Cisco’s, though slightly larger to compensate for their different digit sizes) and the “Lucky Ring” that sat adjacent to it on his middle finger.

(Eobard’s Lucky Ring was made of some sort of gold alloy and had an image of a lightning bolt molded onto its face. Cisco had asked him about it once, and Eobard had given some kind of poetic explanation about it being a constant reminder to never stop innovating and to always follow inspiration whenever—and however—it “struck.” That philosophy seemed kind of neat, thought Cisco had to admit that he’d mostly asked because he was worried that it might a trinket from a long-lost love.)

When the movie was over, Cisco was ready to take a nap. And just as he was about to tell his fiancé as much and extend an invitation to nap (and cuddle) with him, Eobard moved his hand and began to massage Cisco’s scalp with his fingers. In Cisco’s relaxed state, this action actually made his breath slow and his eyelids droop.  _ Hair hypnosis _ , they sometimes called it, and Eobard had joked once that if Cisco ever went on an Incredible Hulk -esque rampage, that technique would be the only way to calm him down.

It was great until it wasn’t; Eobard’s fingers brushed a certain spot, and pain suddenly thumped through Cisco’s head, snapping him back to attention. A little whimper escaped from his throat before he could swallow it down.

Eobard recoiled. “Sorry, I just wanted to check…never mind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” After hesitating for a second, he said, “How bad is it?”

“Well…let’s just say that your thick hair is really coming in handy right now,” Eobard said, smiling stiffly. “Though…if we go out to dinner in the next few days, you should probably wear a hat.”

“Oh, God, I’m hideous, aren’t I?” Cisco said with a laugh. “You’re going to want to put a bag over my head when we have sex.”

“Sorry, we won’t be having sex anytime soon,” Eobard said. “Someone told the doctor that I’ve been abusing ED drugs, and she cut me off. It’s like an empty tube sock down there.”

Cisco fell back onto his pillow, cackling. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m  _ so _ working it into our wedding vows.”

“Oh, great, now  _ you’re _ bringing up the wedding so  _ I _ won’t be mad? Nice try; I’m still pissed that you tattled on me.” He shook his head, though he was smirking. “Just pick another movie for us to watch.”

Cisco groaned dramatically, handing him the remote. “ _ You _ pick the next one. I’ll probably fall asleep about 15 minutes in.”

“In that case, let’s just watch TV. And because  _ I _ have the remote, I can declare for certain that we’re not watching Cartoon Network.”

“You’re a tyrant, Thawne.”

After checking a few different stations, Eobard settled on Travel Channel, where a rerun of  _ Mysteries at the Museum _ was playing. As the show’s host introduced the Newseum in Washington, D.C., he leaned back, reclining next to Cisco once more.

Cisco was quiet for a moment before he felt like speaking up. “So, I noticed that you stopped petting my head,” he said conversationally. “And yet, you don’t seem to be doing anything with your hands right now. That’s…interesting.”

Eobard snorted. “You’re such a brat.” But he reached over and continued to caress Cisco’s scalp with his fingers, being careful to avoid the bump. “I guess it’s my fault for spoiling you rotten, isn’t it?”

“I’m not spoiled. By-the-way, will you buy me a fennec fox?”

“Cisco, I swear…” he started, laughing.

“You’re right; we should definitely adopt instead of buying one from a breeder. I’ll start doing research on rescue groups tomorrow.”

“No. No to all of that.” He turned to kiss Cisco’s cheek. “If you’re good, though, I’ll buy you a plush one to cuddle with whenever we’re apart. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Cisco said, giving Eobard his best pouty face. He’d known that asking for the fennec fox  _ again _ was a bit of a long shot, but it was worth a try.

“Like I said: you’re a brat, Cisco.” His expression softened. “All joking aside…I’m glad you’re okay. When I got the call that you’d fainted and hit your head, I was  _ so _ worried. You’ll forgive me for overreacting, won’t you? It’s just like you told Caitlin: I can be a little overprotective when it comes to your well-being.”

Cisco replayed the scene at the medical wing in his mind, and he couldn’t help but cringe a little at how Eobard had screamed at the doctor who  _ wasn’t _ Caitlin Snow. “I forgive you. But, you know, if you feel like you overreacted, maybe I’m not the one you should be apologizing to?” 

“Cisco, I am  _ not _ apologizing to Dr. Smith,” Eobard said flatly. He’d apparently caught on to what Cisco was thinking about. “This isn’t even about saving face; Smith really is an incompetent ass. Plus, Caitlin confided in me that she was pretty sure he was stealing office supplies— _ and _ other people’s lunches.” 

“…Wow. Okay, yeah, fire the bastard, then.” Cisco could handle being subjected to medical negligence. But deliberately stealing someone else’s lunch?  _ That _ was pure evil. Anyone who’d ever had their food snatched out of a community fridge and been made to go hungry could attest to that.

***

Around 7, Eobard left to go pick up dinner and Cisco’s prescription, and Cisco used this alone time to get some work done.

First, he had a few text messages to send. While Eobard had allowed Cisco to drop Brie Larvan a line on their ride home to tell her that everything was fine and she didn’t need to worry, he’d then made Cisco’s STARphone disappear for the rest of the afternoon. His reasoning was that, if Cisco was allowed to have the device on-hand, he’d just fiddle with it all day instead of actually resting—especially if he received “urgent” calls or texts from his co-workers. And Cisco had to admit that the man had a point.

Eobard had given him back his phone right before leaving the house, and the first thing Cisco did was check to see if he had any unread texts. Unsurprisingly, he had a handful of messages from his co-workers, all of them wishing him a speedy recovery. Hartley had even sent him something, and though it seemed coarse ( _ “Heard about your accident. I sincerely hope you can come back to work soon; this department is a mess, and I hate having to clean up after you _ , _ ” _ ), he knew that that was just Hartley’s “unique” way of showing that he cared. Cisco sent everyone a generic response but penned a special one for Hartley, saying that he “love[d him], too, Boo” and that he’d almost certainly be back at work on Monday. Hartley’s response ( _ “I will pay you money to NEVER call me ‘Boo’ again, Cisquito.” _ ) made him cackle with laugher.

He also laughed when he saw Ronnie’s message; Caitlin’s husband said that he was sorry to hear about Cisco’s fall and promised that the S.T.A.R. Labs structural engineering team would soon be unveiling “revolutionary new technology” to prevent similar accidents in the future. Attached was a photo of the staircase Cisco had fallen down but with a trampoline crudely sketched on top of it. The drawing was populated by stick figures; two of them (one with a mop of dark hair and the other with auburn hair in a ponytail) were jumping on the trampoline, while a third stick figure (this one with short, dark hair) was standing nearby and posed like it was dabbing. They were labeled “ YOU ,” “ CAITLIN ,” and “ ME ,” respectively.

Cisco replied to the message by telling Ronnie he was going to steal his idea—including the “highly detailed blueprints” he’d enclosed—and sell it to Mercury Labs. He then forwarded Ronnie’s message to Caitlin and informed her that her husband “was a bit weird.” Caitlin’s response came a few minutes later:

_ I think some kind of phenomenon takes place inside men’s brains when they get married. It has to do with priming their sense of humor so that, by the time they become fathers, they’re ready to tell “Dad Jokes.” Honestly, I can’t wait to see what you and Eobard are like after your wedding. Maybe I can do a case study and win a Nobel Prize? _

He couldn’t resist texting her back:

_ Are Nobel Prizes less noisy than prizes that DO have bells? _

_ GET IT? NOBEL?? “NO BELL????” _

_ OH GOD CAITLIN IT’S ALREADY HAPPENING. MAYBE I REALLY WILL START WEARING SOCKS WITH SANDALS. _

Caitlin responded to that trio of texts with a crying-laughing emoji. She might have also made a note in his medical file about his odd behavior—that’s what Cisco would have done if he were  _ her _ doctor, anyway.

Once he was caught up on his correspondences, he had to decide what he was going to do about Mick Rory’s heat gun. He was sorely tempted to just ignore the issue for the time being; the whole point of sabotaging the gun was to give himself an excuse to talk to Mick about it, and he hadn’t had a chance to do that yet—falling down the stairs had seriously derailed his plans for the afternoon (and the rest of the week).

Fixing the gun remotely would close off that door, and he didn’t really know when he’d have a chance to talk to Mick alone again. But then again, he  _ did _ now have Mick’s cell phone number, so couldn’t he just text him if he needed to get in touch? And Cisco couldn’t completely discount the possibility that his head injury had been the universe’s way of “paying him back” for being underhanded.

Cisco was a man of science, and he knew that life usually wasn’t fair…but he also knew that karma could be a real bitch.

In the end, his conscience won out: he grabbed his tablet, pulled up the update module for Mick’s gun, and fixed the code he’d deliberately botched. After pushing the update through, he sent a quick text to Mick’s number:

_ Mea culpa. Problem w/ gun WAS software issue. Pretty sure I fixed it? _

A few minutes later, he got a text back from Mick:

_ Yeah, it’s working now. Thanks. _

And then, another few minutes later, there was a follow-up message:

_ Is your head okay? _

He wondered if Mick would get the joke if he replied,  _ “Actually, I’ve been told I’m great at it.” _ Probably not. Plus, he was kind of touched that Mick seemed a bit concerned about him, so he decided to be straightforward:

_ Yeah. It hurts and I’ve got a huge bruise, but I think I’ll live. _

With that matter settled, he set his phone down on the nightstand and turned on the TV. The silence in the house was starting to seem a bit stifling, and he felt like he needed some background noise to tide him over until he was no longer alone.

To his surprise, though, his pone buzzed again. Cisco glanced over and saw that it was yet another message from Mick:

_ Thawne’s not going to let you die. _

Cisco frowned at his phone display. Mick’s comment, like Clyde Mardon’s drunken ramblings the night before, seemed cryptic and somewhat unnerving. Cisco had been mostly joking when he’d said that he “thought” he was going to live; he  _ knew _ that his injury was relatively minor. Maybe Mick had misunderstood him? Was he trying to reassure Cisco that, even if the prognosis was grim, Eobard would make sure that he got the best possible care? Shit, was Mick actually  _ worried _ ?

Cisco didn’t want to make a fuss, but he also didn’t want for there to be any confusion. He texted:

_ I’m fine. I’ll be back at work on Monday. ‘Course, if I’ve got too much work to catch up on by then, I’m probably going to WISH I was dead… _

After 10 minutes passed with no response from Mick, Cisco figured that he’d clarified any lingering uncertainty, which came as a relief. That was also when he heard the door to the garage open, some heavy footsteps that he recognized as Eobard’s, and the rustling of paper bags. 

Cisco’s stomach growled. He hadn’t had anything to eat since noon, and his fiancé had promised him Big Belly Burger and—depending upon the dessert selection at the pharmacy—chocolate-cherry ice cream. With renewed vigor, he set down his phone, hopped out of bed, and padded towards the kitchen. He wanted to see if the man he loved had returned from his errand triumphant.

***

After they were finished with dinner and dessert, Eobard announced that he was going to take a shower and asked if Cisco would like to join him.

Cisco winced. “I’m pretty sure that making someone wash and detangle their hair while they’ve got a lump on their scalp qualifies as torture. I showered before you got home last night, so I think I’ll just wait and take a bath tomorrow morning.” He raised his eyebrows. “Uh…unless that’s your subtle way of telling me that I smell bad?”

Eobard laughed. “No, my love—you smell fine.” He made a big show of nuzzling and sniffing Cisco’s neck, which made Cisco giggle. “I just thought it might make you more comfortable. But if you’d rather wait, I’ll quickly take one by myself.” 

“You don’t really need to rush.” Being told to hurry while he was in the shower was one of Cisco’s pet peeves, developed over the course of sharing a bathroom with Dante for two decades. To Eobard’s credit, he rarely rushed Cisco through bathing unless they had somewhere to be. If  _ he _ thought that Cisco was taking too long, he was far more likely to simply strip down and climb into the shower stall with him. 

“Of course I do. The sooner I’m done in the shower, the sooner I can be back at your side.”

Cisco was about to answer—maybe say something silly, like,  _ “Oh, well, in that case, hurry your ass up!” _ —but then he stopped. All of this talk about rushing around had reminded him of what he’d been thinking about back in the medical wing, right before Caitlin had interrupted him with her question about gummy worms. He closed his mouth as a familiar—but unwelcome—feeling of bewilderment rolled over him. 

Eobard noticed. “Everything okay?”

“Uh…yeah,” Cisco said, forcing himself to smile. “Just got distracted for a sec.” He stood on his tippy-toes to kiss Eobard’s mouth. “Go clean up. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Eobard teased. With that, he headed to their bathroom, pulling his shirt off over his head as he went.

As soon as Cisco heard his fiancé step into the shower, he grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and quickly typed out a message to Mick Rory:

_ Hey, is your watch accurate? The one you used to tell me what time it was when I woke up, I mean? _

Several minutes later, his phone buzzed, and Cisco scrambled to read Mick’s reply:

_ Yeah. Snart’s anal about “synchronizing our watches,” and he bugs me about it. _

Cisco bit his lip and then typed:

_ When I woke up, I asked you what time it was. Do you remember what you said? _

By the time Mick’s answer came through, Eobard was finishing up in the bathroom. Cisco read the message as he heard the water turning off and the stall door opening:

_ I think it was one-thirty-something. Why? What difference does it make? _

Cisco stared at Mick’s words for a few seconds. The response had confirmed what he’d been thinking, and the subsequent confusion clouding his mind was making him more and more uncomfortable by the second. He only barely managed to send Mick a quick reply ( _ “Just wondering. Thanks.”) _ before Eobard walked out of the bathroom. 

“Were you timing me?” he asked playfully, blotting his hair with a towel. He was smiling, which made Cisco feel a little guilty for going behind his back. But, then again, Thursday had seen him doing a  _ lot _ of that, hadn’t it?

“Uh, no,” Cisco replied. He set the phone down on his nightstand. “I was just catching up on my texts. You know, since I didn’t have my phone all afternoon.”

“Pity. I think I might have actually broken a personal record.” He raised his eyebrows. “And I hope you’re not answering  _ work-related _ texts. You’re supposed to be recuperating.”

“I know, I know.”

Eobard crossed their room to the dresser that he and Cisco shared, retrieving a pair of pajama pants—black silk, barely visible stripe pattern, way more expensive than sleepwear really had any business being—from one of the drawers. Cisco waited until Eobard had slid the pants on before he opened his mouth: 

“Hey, honey?”

“Hmm?” Eobard replied, turning to look at him. He walked back to their bed and climbed in so that he could sit next to Cisco.

“Did it really take 20 minutes for someone from the medical clinic to call you and say that I was hurt? You weren’t exaggerating?”

Eobard inhaled sharply, and a look of discontent settled over his features. “It did take a full 20 minutes. That’s why I was so angry when I first arrived; they have enough staff available that  _ someone _ could have contacted me in the first few minutes after you’d been admitted.” He squeezed Cisco’s hand. “Darling, please believe me when I say that I got to you as quickly as I could.”

Cisco frowned. “I do believe that. But…you were at City Hall when you heard what happened, right?”

“Yes. I had that meeting with the council today, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. So, I don’t understand: how’d you get back to the labs so quickly?”

Eobard cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I…I was only unconscious for about 25 minutes. I know because I checked the time before I fell and again after I woke up in the medical wing. So…you would have had to go from City Hall to S.T.A.R. Labs in less than five minutes. I don’t know how that’s possible, especially in mid-day traffic.”

For a moment, Eobard was completely still. He seemed to be processing the question, and Cisco could practically see the wheels in the man’s head turning. But then, he let out a soft chuckle. “Cisco, you’re confused. You were out for close to 35 minutes, not 25. It took me a little more than  _ 15 _ minutes to get to you.” He squeezed Cisco’s hand again. “I  _ might _ have told the driver to go a little faster than he usually would, but I promise we weren’t reckless.”

Cisco blinked. “But the time…” He very clearly remembered seeing the clock on his phone saying 1:06. And then Mick had said it was 1:35. Had he really read the clock wrong? Or maybe Mick had misread his watch?

“Don’t worry about that, sweet boy,” Eobard said, and he kissed Cisco on the forehead. “It’s not a big deal.”

Cisco wasn’t assuaged. “Um, if I’m losing my ability to tell time or do basic math, then I think we should be pretty damn worried...”

“You just made a teeny, tiny mistake,” Eobard said. He brushed a lock of Cisco’s hair out of his face. “There’s no need to get fussy. Do you want to take your sedative now?”

“I  _ want _ for you to stop babying me!” Cisco snarled, and the fierceness in his voice shocked them both. “And stop telling me what to think and how I should feel!” He flopped over onto his side, putting his back to the other man.

For a moment, his anger burned flare-bright. But then, just as quickly as it had come over him, it dissipated, and he was left feeling like a total jackass. Eobard had just been trying to help him and comfort him, and what had he done? He’d lashed out like a moody teenager. Crap like this was probably why Eobard was worried that Cisco didn’t really want to marry him. Hell, at the rate they were going, Cisco would be lucky if  _ Eobard _ didn’t suggest an extended engagement, just to make sure that he wasn’t making a huge mistake. 

“Sorry, that was…that was really uncalled for,” Cisco said, turning to him again. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just…I’m mad at the situation. I hate not knowing what’s wrong with me; I was so happy up until a few days ago, and now, everything feels weird.” He sighed, trying to get comfortable in the bed. “It’s like I’m missing something.”

Thankfully, Eobard seemed relatively unfazed by Cisco’s outburst. “What are you missing? Maybe I can help you find it?”

“No, not ‘missing’ like I lost something. Missing like…like there’s something I’m not seeing. And it feels like it’s obvious, like the answer’s right in front of my face, but I’m just too stupid to get it. You know?” 

“I think so. For what it’s worth, though, you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met…if not  _ the _ smartest.” Eobard said. He planted another gentle kiss on Cisco’s head, avoiding the bump. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then everything will be okay.” He stroked Cisco’s arm with his fingertips. “Was there something else?”

“What?”

“Is there something else on your mind? Something else you’d like to discuss?” There was the slightest hint of a frown on his face. “If you’ve been sitting on  _ that _ thought all day, I have to wonder if there’s more going on in your head right now.”

Cisco sighed, feeling pathetic. He thought about lying, but he didn’t see a point. “Well…yeah. The truth is…I had another weird dream last night.”

Eobard’s frown deepened. “Another one? Is  _ that _ why you had trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t get sick afterwards?”

“No, I didn’t have to throw up. It didn’t affect me like that. It just made me feel…sad.”

“What was it about? And please don’t say that you don’t want to talk about it—if that were true, you wouldn’t have confessed.”

Cisco sighed. “It was just the two of us again.”

“What did I look like?”

“You looked like you,” Cisco said. “You weren’t wearing someone else’s face this time around. But…you  _ were _ wearing this weird yellow and black suit.”

Eobard was quiet for a second. “You mean a business suit, right? Like the kind I wear to the labs every day?”

“No, it was more like a full-body jumpsuit. I think it was made of leather.” He chuckled in spite of himself. “Not gonna lie: you looked pretty hot, even if the yellow material totally clashed with your hair.”

“Cisco, what happened in the dream?” Eobard said. His voice had turned urgent. “Did I hurt you again?”

“No, you were in some kind of…I dunno, I guess it was a prison cell? You couldn’t get out. And I’d come down to talk to you.”

“What did we talk about?”

Cisco was starting to get a little put off at the way that Eobard was prompting him; his tone had been much more patient when Cisco was describing his other dream. He decided not to say anything about it, though. “Well…you were acting like we were meeting for the first time. And I was angry that you didn’t know who I was, because I knew who  _ you _ were.”

“So…I had forgotten about you?”

Cisco frowned. “No, it was more like…” He stopped. “Never mind, that’s stupid.”

“What is?”

“In the dream…it was like I was seeing a version of you from the past. Like, you didn’t know who I was because, as far as you knew, we hadn’t met yet.” He shook his head. “But like I said, that’s stupid.”

“Right. Because time travel isn’t real,” Eobard said, and for some reason, his voice was a bit hollow.

“Uh-huh. And I’ve seen enough movies to know that messing with the past is a bad idea, anyway.” Cisco paused, mulling it over. “Unless you take into account the idea of causal loops. If you subscribe to  _ that _ theory, then altering the past is actually impossible, because everything—”

“Cisco, darling, can we please save the thought experiments for when you don’t have a head injury?” Eobard said. His tone had grown cool.

Cisco huffed. “Explaining a grandfather paradox isn’t going to break my brain, Eobard.”

“Maybe, but if you  _ do _ break your brain and start talking in word salads, I won’t know whether it’s just more sci-fi babble or you actually need medical attention.” Eobard got up from the bed. “I’m going to go get you some water so you can take your sedative,” he remarked flatly, and then he walked towards the bathroom.

For a moment, Cisco was a bit stunned by Eobard’s coldness. The man had sounded downright exasperated with him—like Cisco’s antics were seriously trying his patience. And, as far as Cisco was concerned, that wasn’t fair. Nightmares, insomnia, memory problems, and head injuries were  _ not _ his idea of great time, either. And Eobard was the one who’d asked to hear about Cisco’s other stupid dream in the first place. Why the hell was Eobard getting mad at  _ him _ ?

_ Because you’re being a little shit, _ he thought, instantly answering his own question.  _ He’s devoted to you, he loves you, he’s dropped everything to take care of you…and all you can do is act out. Why don’t you tell him one more time that you dreamed about him being evil? _

Cisco’s stomach lurched. The voice in his head (which, distressingly, sounded quite a bit like his mother) had a good point. Considering all that Eobard had done for him the last few hours, let alone the last week, he really ought to be a little less contrary. Instead of arguing or being flippant, he could just be…well, “obedient” might not have been the right word. Deferential? Yes, that sounded better. 

So, when Eobard got back with a glass of water in one hand and a small, white pill in the other, Cisco took both from him and swallowed the pill without any further protest. He put a smile on his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Eobard murmured as he got into bed and settled down next to Cisco. “If you start to get sleepy, don’t fight it.”

“Okay. Uh, in the meantime…do you want to watch another movie? Maybe something from the Marvel Cinematic Universe?” Cisco suggested, doing his best to sound chipper. “I’ve seen them all already, so it’s okay if I fall asleep. We watched  _ Age of Ultron  _ last weekend, so the next one would be  _ Ant-Man _ .”

“I suppose we could do that,” Eobard replied slowly. “Though, before we do anything else…” he took the TV remote out of Cisco’s hand, “…let’s get you relaxed.”

Cisco looked at him. “Oh?” He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and it seemed to suggest that Eobard was no longer cross with him.  _ That’s good, _ Cisco thought.  _ Let’s stay on this road _ .

Eobard gave him a wolfish smile. Then, wordlessly, he pulled Cisco down so that they were spooning, kissed Cisco’s neck, and snaked his hands under Cisco’s t-shirt. 

Was it the medication that caused a surge of warmth bloom across Cisco’s face and chest? Should he have blamed the sedative for making him go practically boneless? Would he discover the next morning that  _ “feeling like little sparks of electricity are dancing across your flesh when your fiancé touches you” _ was a known side effect of the pills?

Doubtful. He’d tried both molly and acid a few times in college, and it had always taken those drugs about 20 minutes to kick in. Even if his sense of time was a little warped (How long had it really taken for Eobard to get to the medical wing? How much time had he really lost while he was unconscious? Those questions were still plaguing him), he knew that he probably wasn’t feeling the effects of the sedatives yet.

Eobard was just special, he guessed. Bewitching and compelling and absolutely irresistible. Leonard Snart knew how to get under Cisco’s skin, but Cisco had never been as completely taken with  _ anyone _ as he was with Eobard.

Maybe that was why, when Eobard slipped one hand into the front of Cisco’s boxers and gently began to stroke him, Cisco didn’t make a snide remark about how a simple back- or foot-rub would have been sufficient to get him relaxed. He simply let out a little sigh of contentment and shifted his thighs to give Eobard better access.

“Good boy,” Eobard cooed, and Cisco couldn’t help but shiver in delight. “Let me take care of you. Let me take care of everything.”

“Okay,” Cisco said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. If this was what his fiancé wanted, if doing  _ this _ for Cisco would make Eobard feel needed and helpful, then Cisco wasn’t going to argue. 

And so, before Cisco knew it, his pants and underwear had been pushed down to his knees, and Eobard was pumping him with a loose, spit-slick fist. He knew what Cisco liked and knew how to get him off quickly, which (unfortunately or not, depending upon how you looked at it) also meant that he knew how to draw things out.

“Are you mine, Cisco? Are you  _ only _ mine?” Eobard asked, breaking the relative silence. For the last few minutes, the only sounds in their room had been Cisco’s soft moans. 

“ _ Yesssss… _ ” Cisco managed to hiss out, writhing. He was thankful for the smooth texture of his pillowcase.

“Mine,” Eobard repeated, mostly to himself. Cisco felt teeth grazing a sensitive spot on his neck. “Mine.” The pressure increased; odds were good that he’d have a mark there later. “Every part of you is mine.”

Cisco closed his eyes. Eobard getting possessive during intimate encounters wasn’t new; he’d been doing it for as long as they’d been sleeping together.

_ “Mine,” Eobard had murmured the first time Cisco snuck down to the cortex to see him during the day. He pulled Cisco into his lap and yanked aside the collar of Cisco’s shirt to suck a bruise onto his skin. _

_ “Mine,” Eobard had moaned, his fingers knotted in Cisco’s hair. They were in the back of a limo on the way home from a holiday gala, and Cisco barely waited until the privacy partition was rolled all the way up before he sank to his knees—in a $4,000 tuxedo—and took Eobard into his mouth.  _

**_“Mine,” Eobard had growled, pressing a hand to the back of Cisco’s neck in order to keep him still. He’d bent him over a workroom table after everyone else had left for the day and pushed in a little too hard and a little too fast. Cisco was going to ask him to slow down, but then he felt a pair of eyeglasses hit his back, and he had to laugh at the other man’s lack of control. Cisco made him so hot that he’d let his glasses fall off of his nose. Wasn’t_ ** **that** **_something?_ **

Cisco opened his eyes. When was the last time Eobard had worn glasses? Did Eobard  _ ever _ wear glasses?

He couldn’t think straight. All of the blood in his brain seemed to have gone to his  _ other _ head—the one that Eobard was currently rubbing his thumb against.

“Are you close, baby?”

Cisco nodded, though he was sure Eobard already knew the answer to his question.

“Hmmmm,” Eobard murmured with his mouth on Cisco’s neck again. The vibration felt funny, but definitely not in a bad way. “You usually last longer. But maybe you’re just extra-sensitive because you wouldn’t let me touch you last night?”

“I…” Cisco started, and his voice broke into a whimper when Eobard’s fist tightened sharply. It hurt just a little, and that meant it felt very, very good.

“It’s okay.” His tongue flicked out to lick Cisco’s cheek, and he started moving his whole hand up and down again. “I’m just glad you’re letting me touch you now. Because I’m  _ yours, _ ” he said. “I’m addicted to you. I’m a slave for you. You’re the only thing in my life that truly matters.”

“I…” Cisco started again. He actually wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything. I always give you what you need, don’t I?” He stopped for a moment to slip off his own pants and then went back to fondling Cisco. Their legs tangled up, pressing their bodies together, and Cisco felt a hot hardness against his tailbone.

_ So much for the “empty tube sock”, _ he couldn’t help but think to himself, and he let out a shivery giggle while heat coiled in his belly.

That happy, little sound just seemed to spurn Eobard on further. He tightened his grip once more and began moving faster, grinding himself on Cisco’s backside, not stopping or slowing down until Cisco finally cried out and spilled into Eobard’s hand.

“There we go,” Eobard remarked, sounding pleased with himself. “Don’t you feel better now?”

“…Yeah, I guess I do,” Cisco said, trying to catch his breath. His limbs felt heavy and his mind was a bit fuzzy, but still, he reached behind himself and fondled Eobard’s crotch with his fingers. “Do you need me to help you get off?” he asked, and his tongue seemed clumsy in his mouth.  _ The sedative, _ Cisco realized. Apparently, there  _ was _ still some blood getting to his brain. Good to know.

Eobard inhaled sharply, probably at the feeling of Cisco’s touch. “No. That’s…I can do it myself, since you seem a little out of it right now.” He batted Cisco’s hand away with his wrist and then wiped the mess on his palm and fingers onto Cisco’s hip. “Okay?” 

“Sure. Do whatcha gotta do.”

Despite teasing Cisco about not lasting very long, Eobard finished fairly quickly, too—after a few minutes of stroking himself with one hand while caressing Cisco’s ass with the other, his breathing became ragged, and soon after that, Cisco felt Eobard’s release splash onto the back of his thighs.

They reclined in silence for a few moments while Eobard was putting himself back together. Finally, Cisco opened his mouth: “Do you feel better now, too?”

Even though he was panting, Eobard managed to laugh at that. “Yes. Definitely. I think we can agree that we  _ both _ needed this. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Minutes later, after Eobard had cleaned them both up and put their clothes back in order, he wrapped Cisco in his arms. “My darling boy,” he sighed into Cisco’s hair. “My sweet, beautiful, brilliant boy…”

“I wish I knew why you think I’m so special,” Cisco admitted. The man had said earlier that Cisco was the only thing in his life that truly mattered, but how could that be? How could that  _ possibly _ be? Eobard had everything that a man could possibly want in the world. And he could have anyone he wanted. So why had he picked Cisco of all people? 

“I wish  _ I _ knew why no one else seems to realize how special you are. Present company included.” He held Cisco tighter, almost like he was trying to steal the air in his fiancé’s lungs. “But that’s fine. I’ll always love you, Cisco. And I’ll always take care of you. Nothing will ever come between us, because I won’t  _ let _ anything come between us.”

“Not even oxygen?” Cisco managed to murmur.

Eobard grunted, relaxing his grip just a tiny bit—enough for Cisco to breathe, but not enough for him to move. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Just…you don’t have to choke me to prove it, honey.”

Eventually, they started to watch  _ Ant-Man _ , and the atmosphere in their bedroom seemed to lighten up. They laughed and chatted through the movie’s opening scenes, and Cisco felt himself growing progressively sleepier as time passed. But Eobard never let go of Cisco, keeping a possessive arm around him at all times.

Deep down, Cisco thought that Eobard’s love for him could be a little...overwhelming sometimes. The man’s adoration made happiness bloom inside of him, but the sensation also occasionally made him feel like his ribs were breaking from within. And yet, given the choice between being smothered and being neglected, he’d choose being smothered any day of the week. Considering the life he’d lived  _ before _ he met Eobard, could anyone really blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Mysteries at the Museum’ is a real show, and it’s super neat if you’re interested in weird, obscure history. At the same time, I know more than one person who can’t seem to keep their eyes open while it’s playing—something about the host’s soothing voice and the chipper background music. If you’ve never seen it before, you can find a bunch of episodes on Hulu and some clips on YouTube.
> 
> On a completely unrelated note, I just found out that fennec foxes are actually illegal to keep as pets in Missouri. This is another example of me Not Doing The Research. Let’s say, for the purpose of this story, the Arrowverse’s version of Missouri DOES allow people to keep fennec foxes. Eobard just doesn't want one in his house because he thinks it would be a huge hassle.
> 
> So, we’re getting really close to the end of the story! Without spoiling anything…THE SHIT IS ABOUT TO HIT THE FAN.


	6. Finally Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Is something wrong?”
> 
> For a moment, Eobard just looked at their joined hands. Then, he turned his blue eyes on Cisco. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself about, my love.”
> 
> “Hey, don’t light yourself on fire to keep me warm,” Cisco remarked. He squeezed Eobard’s hand. “I’m here for you, even if my brain’s kinda going through a rough patch right now…”
> 
> “Honestly, it’s nothing. Just a simple fix. Though I really should see to it sooner rather than later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I can’t believe I finally finished this thing. Excluding author’s notes, the final word count (according to my computer) is ~45,000 words over 100 pages. This is the longest fanfic I’ve ever successfully completed, and if you’ve been following it since the beginning, I can only say thank you! I hope that the final act isn’t a total disappointment…especially since it took me two goddamn months to update. But this chapter is extra-long, so I hope that it all balances out in the end? 
> 
> Note: trigger warning in this part of the story for brief discussions of domestic violence. I’ll put a spoiler at the beginning of the end notes just in case anyone wants/needs a more detailed description of what to expect.

Cisco’s cell phone alarm went off at 3 a.m., snapping him out of a deep and dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes blearily and groped for the device on his nightstand without lifting his head from his pillow. When he finally managed to grab the phone, he looked at the screen, wondering why the hell it was going off at this time of night—or, rather, morning.

As he swiped to turn off the chime, he saw a banner across his screen that said “CALL MICK.” For a moment, Cisco stared at the phone; in his daze, it seemed quite possible that the software had become sentient and was trying to give him advice.

“Who’s calling you so late?”

Cisco jolted. He wasn’t surprised that Eobard was now awake, too; the noise was definitely loud enough to rouse both of them. He _was_ surprised, though, that Eobard’s voice did not sound at all groggy or disoriented. It sounded…well, it sounded like Eobard had been awake already. Cisco squinted at him, trying to tell if he _looked_ like someone who’d been tossing and turning for hours, too. “S’not the ringer,” Cisco managed to say. “It’s the alarm. I don’t know why…” But then a thought occurred to him, and he groaned out loud.

“What is it?” Eobard said.

“Earlier today—well, yesterday, I guess—I set an alarm on my phone to remind me to do something. And I meant to set it for 3 _p.m._ I guess I screwed up on that last part.” He shook his head as he set his phone back down on the nightstand. “Sorry. And this was _before_ I fell down the stairs, so I can’t even blame it on that.”

Eobard sighed. “Oh, Cisco…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—for a genius, I can be a real dolt sometimes.” He laid back down. “Were you up already?” Cisco asked.

“I was. I woke up about an hour ago and haven’t been able to fall back asleep.”

Cisco reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment, Eobard just looked at their joined hands. Then, he turned his blue eyes on Cisco. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself about, my love.”

“Hey, don’t light yourself on fire to keep me warm,” Cisco remarked. He squeezed Eobard’s hand. “I’m here for you, even if my brain’s kinda going through a rough patch right now…”

“Honestly, it’s nothing. Just a simple fix. Though I really should see to it sooner rather than later.” He kissed Cisco’s fingers and then pulled away from him. The next thing Cisco knew, Eobard was out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown.

“Where are you going?” Cisco asked, sitting up once more.

Eobard smiled at him. “Sleep, sweet boy. You need your rest.”

“But—” 

“I’m only going to my office—the one here, not at S.T.A.R. Labs. I’ll be back in a few minutes, I promise.” He paused. “…Unless you want for me to hold you until you fall asleep again? It’s probably okay for you to take another sedative, too.”

 _You’re babying me again_ , Cisco wanted to say, but he decided against it. “No, I’m fine.” He stretched out and laid his head on his pillow. “Go take care of…whatever it is you need to take care of. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know you will.” He padded out of the room, his hands in his pockets and an oddly serious look on his face.

Cisco watched him go and then directed his gaze towards the ceiling. Now that he was awake, he actually wasn’t tired at all; he could only assume that it was because he’d fallen asleep a few hours earlier than he normally did. Eobard had told him that he needed to rest, but he honestly felt more like reading, watching TV, or messing with his phone.

A part of him also wanted to get up and follow Eobard to his office. Cisco wasn’t privy to every detail of his fiancé’s work, but it was also extremely uncommon for Eobard to shut down questions completely. Rather than tell Cisco that he “wouldn’t understand” something, Eobard was far more likely to try to explain a concept or idea and then laugh and kiss his lover’s cheeks when Cisco either (A) surprised him with his insight or (B) admitted that he was lost. Why, then, was Eobard being so cagey with him?

 _You’re overthinking things again,_ the voice in his head scolded. _He just doesn’t want you to worry. Or maybe he’s planning a surprise. Either way, let it go._

Cisco sighed. Maybe that was his problem: he always overthought things to the point that he worked himself into a frenzy. Well, that was _one_ of his problems, anyway; he was also pretty sure that he had an oral fixation and “daddy issues”—that would explain why he had such a knack for giving blowjobs to older men. And Eobard had already pointed out that he was a total doormat when it came to his family.

(Really, Cisco was bluntly aware of the fact that he was a huge ball of anxiety and various complexes. Hartley had once asked him, “What’s wrong with you, Ramon?” and Cisco had just laughed in response.)

Another issue he had: he didn’t like being alone when he didn’t feel well. Especially not in this house, where too much silence and space could quickly become stifling. So, even though he was under strict orders to go back to sleep, he grabbed his phone off of his nightstand and typed a message to Eobard:

_Come back to bed. I’m lonely._

He added an eggplant emoji, a tongue emoji, and a winking face emoji—just so that there could be no confusion—and then hit ‘send.’ 10-to-1, that would bring his fiancé back sooner rather than later.

To Cisco’s surprise, though, he heard Eobard’s phone buzz with the new message alert about a second later. Cisco looked to the other side of the bed and groaned in aggravation. Eobard’s STARphone was sitting on _his_ nightstand, perched atop a wireless charging pad. Evidently, he hadn’t seen fit to take it with him to his office.

Cisco scowled at the forgotten phone. Sending Eobard a sexy ‘Come to bed’ text was pretty effing pointless if he wouldn’t see it until after he’d returned to their room.

No, this whole “lying around and waiting for him” thing wasn’t working. Cisco decided that he was just going to have to get up and retrieve the man himself. With a sigh, he got out of bed, taking a second to let his legs acclimate before he stood up. A single I-got-up-too-fast injury was enough for one day, and if he fell down again, Eobard would probably have him fitted for a protective suit made of bubble wrap. Or handcuff him to their headboard so that he was _forced_ to stay in bed. 

(Which, Cisco had admit, would actually be pretty hot…)

Cisco grabbed his own dressing gown from its place on the back of the closet door and then left the bedroom. Eobard had already turned on one of the hall lights, and, due to the way the house was designed, that meant that it was bright enough for him to navigate a path to Eobard’s office without flipping any more switches or using his phone as a flashlight. He even managed to get there without clipping his hip on the accent table (or the geode and wood sculpture that the accent table held) outside the office entryway.

Out of all the areas in their home, Cisco spent the least amount of time in Eobard’s office. Granted, he wasn’t totally barred from entering. He’d definitely stepped foot in that room on more than one occasion. But he very rarely had a reason to go in there, so he mostly stayed away. Eobard had a similar relationship with Cisco’s home workshop; when Cisco was tinkering with one project or another, Eobard was far more likely to poke his head in the doorway and call out to get Cisco’s attention than he was to simply stroll up to him.

They’d never really discussed this arrangement. It was just an understood custom of their cohabitation, one that seemed to work well for them. They’d both lived alone prior to Cisco moving in, so each of them being allowed to have a space in the house that was theirs—and theirs alone—made sense.

That unspoken boundary was why, when Cisco reached the office, he stopped at the threshold instead of walking in. Eobard had turned on his desk lamp, so Cisco could clearly see him standing behind his desk with his back to the doorway. Cisco was about to say something to alert his fiancé to his presence, but the words died in his throat when he realized that Eobard was staring at the wall. 

Cisco frowned. That particular expanse of wall didn’t contain any windows, and it lacked decorations beyond a few framed photos. It was also completely opaque and made out of traditional construction material instead of glass. Thus, he had no idea what Eobard could possibly be looking at.

 _‘Kay, that’s not creepy at all,_ Cisco thought to himself grimly. He knew (from years of watching TV and movies) that sleepwalkers sometimes got “stuck” at impassible structures, but Eobard had seemed completely lucid when he left their bedroom. Maybe he was just lost in thought? That happened to Cisco sometimes, and occasionally, it was so bad that getting swatted on the arm or head was the only way to snap him out of it.

After a few seconds, though, Eobard _did_ move. He put his hands up, and for some reason, they instantly became blurry. Cisco blinked his eyes a few times, trying to put Eobard’s hands back into focus, but they still looked strange.

_Are they…are they vibrating?_

He felt a squeezing sensation in his chest. There was something very familiar about the idea of Eobard’s hand vibrating, and it filled him with dread. But he couldn’t explain it.

As Cisco watched, dumbstruck, Eobard stuck his hands into the wall he’d previously been staring at; they passed through the structure like it was a hologram. After fishing around for a moment, he pulled back. And when he did, there was something clutched in his fingers.

_Is that a spear?!_

Yes, that’s definitely what it looked like. Eobard didn’t seem at all surprised to see it, so he must have known that it was there. Cisco, however, couldn’t really comprehend what he was happening. And he was so shocked that he absentmindedly took a step backwards. He didn’t think to watch out for the accent table, so he bumped into it, jostling the sculpture and making it rattle.

Eobard reacted to the noise in the blink of an eye. One moment, was looking down at the spear in his hands. Then, his head snapped upward, and suddenly, he was upon Cisco, standing directly in front of him. His face was contorted into a scowl, but his expression turned into one of surprise when he recognized the person who’d snuck up on him.

“Oh! Cisco, I…I thought you were asleep,” he said with wide eyes.

Cisco just stared at him. He wasn’t holding the spear anymore, but... 

“You startled me, my love,” Eobard continued. “I thought you might be a burglar. Though, considering I’m unarmed, I probably should have just ducked down instead of—” 

“What the hell did you just do?” Cisco blurted out. He was starting to feel dizzy, and it took all of his concentration to stay on his feet.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just now! You…you vibrated your hands, and they passed through the wall! And then you pulled out a… _a spear thingy_!”

Eobard looked at him for a second, and then he let out a hollow laugh. In the dim light of the hallway, the sound seemed almost ghoulish. “Cisco, you’re seeing things. I think it’s the medication. Let’s go back to bed.” He made a move to hold Cisco’s hand, presumably to lead him to their room.

In any other situation, Cisco would have given in. He would have trusted Eobard; he would have believed what the man was saying. But too much had happened in the last few days, and he couldn’t ignore his instincts any longer.

So he yanked his hand away. “No! I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

“There’s nothing to tell. Now, darling, we—”

“Stop it! Just stop it! I _saw_ you put your hands through the wall! It was…” A wave of nausea rolled through him. “It was like in my dream. The one where you killed me. Did…did that actually happen?! Did you crush my heart?!”

Eobard exhaled. His gaze had grown icy. “Cisco, you’re acting crazy. If I’d killed you, how in the hell could we be standing here, having this asinine conversation?” He reached for Cisco’s wrists with both hands. “You’re clearly not well. Let’s go back to bed before you fall down again.”

“Don’t touch me,” Cisco snarled, taking a step back so Eobard couldn’t grab him. “I want to know what you pulled out of the wall.”

“I didn’t pull _anything_ out of the wall.”

“You’re lying! I know what I saw!” When Eobard continued to frown, Cisco stormed past him and walked over to Eobard’s desk. Sure enough, some kind of spear—dark wooden handle, ornately decorated metal tip—was spanning the length of the table. It looked like a MacGuffin in an Indiana Jones flick, and normally, Cisco would have been delighted by the sight of something so cool in his house. 

“Cisco—”

Tonight, though, he was pissed off. “You just lied to my face!” he said, whirling around to look Eobard in the eye. “What else are you lying about?!”

“You need to calm down.”

“ _You_ need to start telling me the truth!”

“There’s nothing to tell. You asked me what I pulled out of the wall, and I didn’t pull anything out of the wall.” Eobard stepped back into his office and pointed at the spear. “ _That_ was on my desk before you came storming in here, acting hysterical.”

“No, it wasn’t!” His aggravation nearly had him pulling his hair out. 

“Cisco, when was the last time you were in this room?” Eobard asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know…a week ago, maybe?” Cisco shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Then how do you know that the spear wasn’t on my desk already?” He let out another hollow laugh. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

Cisco paused. Eobard had a point; he actually had no way of knowing how long the spear had been sitting out, and it really _would_ be a strange thing to lie about. Plus, that explanation was much more logical than Eobard somehow pulling a large object out a hunk of solid drywall and not leaving behind any physical evidence.

But…but he _saw_ the spear come out of the wall. He _saw_ it. And, while he hadn’t done any research on the medicine Caitlin had prescribed for him, he was pretty sure that it was just supposed to make him content and sleepy—not delusional. 

“What is it?” Cisco asked quietly, stalling for more time to think. “The spear, what…why do you have it?”

“It was a gift from an investor. An artifact he acquired on his last trip to Tel Aviv,” Eobard replied stiffly. “I was planning to either donate it to the Central City Museum or just sell it. I haven’t decided yet.”

Cisco looked at the spear again. For some reason, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it, even though he knew it was probably extremely old and delicate. But then again, the spear didn’t _look_ old. Was it a reproduction of some kind?

He looked up at Eobard. “You came down here at 3 a.m. just to admire this thing?” Cisco asked. “ _This_ is was what you were losing sleep over?”

“ _Actually,_ I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about a research project I didn’t finish. Leaving the office early today put me behind in my work.” He eyed Cisco with a disapproving frown on his face, as if to silently remind him that Cisco was the reason he’d left early.

Immediately, Cisco felt a pang of guilt for inconveniencing him, and an apology nearly leapt out of his mouth. But then he stopped. Besides a few stationery supplies, the spear was the only thing on Eobard’s desk. If he’d been researching, wouldn’t he have gotten out documents or folders or even his laptop, as well?

Cisco wanted to touch the spear. It was… _calling_ to him, or something.

“Cisco,” Eobard sighed. He sounded tired. “Cisco, will you please just listen to me for once? Let’s get you back to bed.”

If he could just touch the spear, all of his questions would be answered. He would finally understand what was going on. He would get the clarity that he’d been seeking for the last few days. And so, despite Eobard’s pleas, he shot out his hand and connected it with the spear’s metal tip.

***

**Eobard was happy. He was downright euphoric. As he stood in the middle of what appeared to be some kind of warehouse (or safe house), he held the spear in his hand and looked at it like he could hardly believe his luck. “I have to say: well done. I've heard of your skills as a thief before, but this has taken it to a whole new level.”**

**Damien Darhk was there, too. “Truly masterful, getting one of** **_them_ ** **to steal it for us.”**

**And so were Snart and Mick. “He was never really one of them. Were you, Mick?” Snart drawled, his voice as nonchalant as ever.**

**Mick didn’t look as happy as the others. He stepped a little closer to his partner and said something indiscernible. Snart murmured something back in response. Whatever alliance the four of them had, Mick was clearly only in it for Snart.**

**No, wait, the** **_five_ ** **of them. Malcom Merlyn entered the room at that moment, a cloth-wrapped bundle in one arm. “Thanks for waiting for me,” he said, practically rolling his eyes. “Seems like I missed a few things.”**

**Eobard’s eyes were ravenous. “You found the Kalabros.” Cisco wasn’t sure whether that was a statement or a question. Maybe Eobard wasn’t, either.**

**“The word of God himself,” Merlyn replied as he undid the wrapping on the item in his arms. It was some kind of book—massive, heavy, and very old. It reminded Cisco of the family Bible that currently resided at his parents’ house. Dante would probably inherit it one day, because he was Dante. Cisco didn’t mind; his relationship status with God (and religion in general) had been “It’s Complicated” since he’d learned about the existence of—**

**“It's like the, uh…** **_owner's manual_ ** **for the Spear of Destiny,” Eobard quipped, smiling again. He used the exact same tone and expression when he was dumbing things down for investors and visitors at S.T.A.R. Labs. The combination was always so charming that people never picked up on his condescension—or, in some cases, his contempt.**

**(“I was starting to give up hope that I’d ever meet an intellectual equal,” Eobard had commented once, early into his and Cisco’s relationship. “And yet, here you are. Do you ever get the feeling that you were made for me, and I was made for you? Because I do.” At the time, Cisco had been drunk on too much wine and too little attention, and Eobard’s words seemed like the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him.)**

**“It wasn't easy to find,” Merlyn remarked.**

**“Now what?” Mick said.**

**Eobard gripped the spear in one hand, held it out to rest of the group, and let the weapon’s handle slide to the floor with an almost ominous** **_clunk_ ** **. “Grab hold,” he said shortly. Whatever was about to happen, he wasn’t willing to wait any longer.**

 **The other four men each took turns wrapping a single hand around the spear’s wooden handle. Once they all had a grip on it, Merlyn glanced around their little circle, and then he opened his mouth once more.** **_“B'khi-eel,”_ ** **he recited, reading out of the Kalabros.** **_“Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah.”_ **

**Cisco couldn’t understand what Merlyn was saying. He didn’t even know which language the man was speaking. However, there was something…hypnotic about his words. Was it a song? Or a prayer?**

**_“B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah. B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah,”_ ** **Merlyn repeated.**

**Something was happening. Merlyn’s voice became harsh, like an otherworldly entity was speaking through him. The tip of the spear began to glow. And the wind picked up, howling around the five of them. But they were indoors; how could there be wind at all?**

**_“B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…”_ **

**Merlyn and Darhk both looked resolute, gripping the spear like they weren’t 100% certain what to expect. Snart had his eyes closed in a show of cool detachment, and Mick seemed slightly pained.**

**But Eobard…Eobard was smirking. That euphoric look was back in his face. And why wouldn’t it be? After so much running, so much anxiety, and so much scheming…he’d won.**

**_He’d won._ **

***

As quickly as the scene in Cisco’s mind had changed, it abruptly flipped back; they were in Eobard’s home office again, and Eobard had his hand wrapped around Cisco’s wrist so that he could no longer reach the spear. “DON’T TOUCH THAT!” he bellowed, and Cisco was reminded of the way he’d yelled at Dr. Smith in the medical wing.

Instinctively, he stepped back, yanking his arm away from Eobard as he did so. His brain was back to feeling like a shaken Etch-a-Sketch. He wasn’t sure what he’d just seen—a vision? A nightmare? A fantasy?—but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. “This spear isn’t a souvenir from Tel Aviv, is it?” he said flatly. “Did you have Leonard Snart and Mick Rory steal it for you? Where did it _really_ come from?”

Eobard’s eyes narrowed again. “You. Are acting. Crazy,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is _my_ house. You have no right to interrogate me.”

 **_“First of all, hermanito, that place where you’re living right now isn’t_ ** **your** **_house. It’s your boyfriend’s house. Unless your name’s on the deed, he can kick you out whenever he wants.”_ ** Weeks ago, when Cisco told Eobard that Dante had said that, Eobard had frowned, squeezed Cisco’s hand, and reassured him that what was his was also Cisco’s. Once they were married, their assets would be tied together legally, but he already thought of the mansion as _theirs_ , anyway.

“‘ _Your_ house,’ huh? What happened to ‘What’s mine is yours, darling’?” Cisco snapped.

Eobard exhaled. “Yes, _of course_ I think of this place as ‘ours.’ It’s not like I’ve forbidden you from going anywhere or using anything. I just mean that you’re being unreasonable right now. 3 a.m. isn’t an appropriate time to play detective. We can talk about all of this later.”

 _That’s not what you said!_ Cisco almost yelled out loud. That wasn’t even close to what he’d said. And, now that he thought about it, what had Eobard meant by, _“Will you please just listen to me for once?”_ Cisco had been listening to him and following his instructions all day. He was actually getting pretty sick of it.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Cisco said, trying to keep his voice level. “What is this thing?”

Eobard looked at him for a few seconds, and for a brief, shining moment, Cisco thought that he was actually going to come clean. But he simply huffed out a breath and said, “I’ve already answered that question. If you don’t trust me, that’s _your_ problem.”

When Cisco was a kid, one of Dante’s favorite techniques to torment him had been to steal something of his (a comic book, a toy, a puzzle, etc.) and then claim that he didn’t have it—even when Cisco could clearly see him sitting on the pilfered object or holding it in one hand. _Especially_ when he could clearly see that Dante had it. He would get angry to the point of shouting and crying, and Dante would simply sit there, calmly insisting that Cisco was mistaken. And on the rare occasion that their parents got involved and took Cisco’s side (instead of just telling Cisco to stop making such a fuss or to quit harassing Dante when he was trying to practice his music), Dante wouldn’t acknowledge any wrongdoing. More often than not, he’d claim that he had simply misunderstood Cisco—or Cisco had just misunderstood _him_ . And Cisco would spent the rest of the day wondering if _he’d_ been in the wrong after all.

But in Cisco’s current situation…he wasn’t wrong. He was _positive_ that he wasn’t wrong. He was also positive that he needed to believe in himself more than he’d ever believed in anything in his life.

So he didn’t argue. He blinked his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at Eobard. “I’m leaving.”

Eobard stared at him. “What do you mean, you’re ‘leaving’?”

“I mean, I’m going to walk into the kitchen, grab my wallet and my keys, get in my car, and go somewhere that’s not here. I need space right now.”

“You don’t mean that.” He wasn’t shouting, but his eyes were so wide that Cisco could see white both above and below the irises. Eobard Thawne prided himself on being able to understand and anticipate the actions of the people around him, but damned if his fiancé hadn’t just managed to catch him completely off-guard. 

Cisco forced himself to look away and stalked towards the kitchen. “A few hours ago, I told you to stop telling me what to think and how to feel. I definitely meant _that._ ” He didn’t know yet where he was going to go. Caitlin and Ronnie would probably let him crash at their place for a day or two if he told them that it was an emergency, and if he couldn’t get ahold of them at this hour, then there were plenty of cheap motels in Central City. Hell, worst case scenario, he could drive to his parents’ house. But the bottom line was that he needed to go someplace where Eobard wasn’t and try to clear his head.

“I don’t believe you,” Eobard said shortly. “You aren’t _actually_ leaving. You’re just having a temper tantrum. I always forget how young you are until you start pulling stunts like this.”

Cisco didn’t say anything. He’d reached the kitchen, and his wallet and car keys were in their usual place in a decorative bowl on the kitchen counter.

“I think we can both agree that I’ve been very patient with you today,” Eobard continued, raising his voice so that Cisco could hear him on the other side of the house. “And that’s because I understand that you’re unwell. But I’m really not happy with the way you’re acting right now.”

Shoes. Cisco needed shoes. It was bad enough that he was leaving the house clad in sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and a dressing gown, but going barefoot was taking it a bit too far. Fortunately, his (and Eobard’s) casual sneakers lived in a basket that they kept by the door to the garage, so it would be easy enough to slip on a pair of Vans before he walked out.

“Why are you doing this?!” Eobard snarled. “I’ve given you everything you could possibly need to be happy. I _want_ for you to be happy. So why can’t you just trust me?!”

Halfway to the garage door, Cisco hesitated. He wanted to reassure Eobard that he still loved him, that he really was grateful for everything the man had given him, and that he _wanted_ to trust him. But, even if he couldn’t explain it, he knew that something wasn’t right. And if he stopped now, he’d probably never figure it out. So he just swallowed and continued to make his way towards the exit. His phone was in his pants pocket, and he pulled it out, fully intending to call Caitlin once he got to his car. 

There was a flash of spidery red light, and almost immediately, Eobard was in front of him again, blocking his path. Cisco let out a cry of surprise and dropped his phone. He heard it clatter against the marble floor and, while the tech geek in him immediately wanted to pick it up to make sure it wasn’t damaged, the rational human in him was more concerned by the fact that Eobard had somehow run the entire length of the house in a fraction of a second.

And Eobard didn’t even seem winded from this feat, either. “Look, if you really feel like you need some space, I suppose that’s okay—this house is big enough that you can have as much alone time as you need. But you shouldn’t drive a car at this hour when you’re upset. It’s not safe. And I’d rather you didn’t drag anyone else into our private business, either.” His tone was urgent. “Let’s retreat to neutral corners instead of being rash.” 

Once again, Cisco found himself backing away from Eobard. There was no way a person could move that fast. Not a normal person, anyway. “How did….who… _what_ the hell are you?” This was all too much to take in all at once. His chest hurt, and he was having trouble catching his breath.

“I’m the man you’re going to marry,” Eobard replied. “Just because I haven’t told you the whole truth, that doesn’t change who I am. You love me, and I love you more than anyone else could _ever_ love you.” He sounded almost desperate, like he was running out of ideas. Cisco wouldn’t have been surprised if he was hiding a leash (or a catch pole) behind his back and was waiting for the right second to slip it around Cisco’s neck. “The perfect world I made for myself includes you, because we’re _supposed_ to be together. That’s why you shouldn’t leave. Do you understand?”

Cisco stared at him. “No, I don’t. I _don’t_ understand what’s happening. All I know is that you’ve been lying to me, I’ve got a bunch of memories that I shouldn’t have, and…and…I’m scared.” His voice broke. “I’m scared of you right now.”

“There’s no reason to be scared of me,” Eobard said, chuckling as if Cisco had admitted he was afraid of the dark. “I’m willing to go back to bed and pretend that this whole incident never happened. I’m not going to hurt you, my beautiful boy.”

“But you _would_ hurt me, if you thought you had to.” Cisco swallowed, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “If I did something…if I found out a bad secret…you’d hurt me to keep me quiet. Like you did before.”

“I didn’t have a choice then,” Eobard barked, and he seemed to realize almost immediately what he’d just admitted to. He wet his lips. “I mean…what happened before doesn’t matter. Our circumstances are very, very different now. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. So just forget about it and let yourself be happy. Okay?” Slowly, gently, he reached out to wrap Cisco in a hug.

And, for the first time he could recall, Cisco didn’t lean into his embrace. He stood completely rigid with his arms at his sides. When Eobard cupped Cisco’s chin in one hand and forced him to look up, Cisco met his gaze, but he didn’t even pretend to smile. He still didn’t understand, still couldn’t sort out the storm of emotions raging in his head…but he knew that something between them (within him?) was now broken beyond repair.

They stood like that for a few moments, with Eobard searching Cisco’s face for a flicker of comprehension or a spark of fondness. But eventually, his expression fell, and he released Cisco. “Okay,” he said, taking a few steps back and running his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’ll just…I can fix this, too.”

Before Cisco could ask what he was talking about, Eobard’s hand clamped down on his wrist. And then they were both in Eobard’s study again. It happened so quickly that Cisco barely perceived any movement beyond some kind of rush—like he’d been on a roller coaster during a drop.

Eobard had dumped Cisco in his desk chair, probably anticipating that the younger man would feel unsteady after their quick jaunt. Meanwhile, Eobard stood in the doorway to the study, blocking Cisco’s exit. The spear was clutched in one of his hands, and as Cisco watched, he let the handle touch the floor.

Instinctively, Cisco grabbed a stainless steel letter opener off of Eobard’s desk and held it in front of himself. Then he immediately felt stupid, because what the hell was a _letter opener_ going to do against a guy who apparently had super powers? Why couldn’t Eobard have been like those eccentric billionaires on TV and in movies who stashed weapons all over the house?

Still, the gesture wasn’t lost on Eobard. He eyed the tool in Cisco’s hands and let out a sad sigh. “I’ll fix this.” He looked at Cisco. “Give me a moment. I’ll fix everything.”

Cisco dared to stand up from the chair. “Eobard, please…this isn’t something you can just fix.”

“I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!” Eobard yelled. His eyes were now glowing red, and his voice had deepened so harshly that the room seemed to shake. “THIS WORLD IS _MINE_ , AND I’M GOING TO GET EVERYTHING I DESERVE! EVERYTHING I’VE EARNED!” 

Cisco dropped down into the chair again and pulled his feet up to make himself as small as possible. This man—a man Cisco had worked alongside, confided in, slept with—was turning into a monster before his eyes. Or had Eobard _always_ been a monster, and his human disguise was finally coming undone?

Eobard continued to stare at him with crimson fury for a few more seconds. Then, he seemed to relax, and his face returned to normal. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair again. “Oh, Cisco. You really do bring out both the best _and_ worst in me,” he said. “Things would be so much simpler if I’d never met you. But I _did_ meet you. And I fell in love with you. And I decided a long time ago that I would _not_ let anything come between us again.” He tapped the spear’s handle on the ground again; the action seemed more like a nervous tic than anything else. “So, here we are.”

The letter opener felt heavy in Cisco’s hand. Could he actually use it if he needed to? Would there be any point in trying?

“Forgive me,” Eobard said, and his voice cracked with emotion. “I was sloppy before, but I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be much more careful this time around.” He looked at the spear. “This…I don’t think that it’ll hurt. But if it does, it’ll be over soon. And you won’t remember a thing. I promise.”

“What are you talking about?!” Cisco shouted at him, finding his voice. “What do you mean, I won’t remember?!’”

“Explaining it would be a waste of both our time,” Eobard said. “So, instead of talking—I’d rather just take action.” 

In that moment, Cisco expected for Eobard to lurch forward and jam the spear into his chest. It probably wouldn’t have taken any more effort than crushing Cisco’s heart with his hand, and he—apparently—was already quite capable of doing that. Regardless of his M.O., Cisco was fairly certain that Eobard had snapped and was going to kill him. Maybe make it a murder-suicide, to boot, and then all of their friends and co-workers would tearfully explain to detectives and journalists that Eobard “seemed like such a nice guy” and they couldn’t believe he’d done something so horrible. 

But Eobard didn’t do that. Instead, he simply opened his mouth and, with a far off look in his eye, began to speak: _“B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…”_

Cisco was so surprised that he dropped the letter opener. Even if he didn’t understand what Eobard was saying, he recognized the incantation: it was the same thing that Malcolm Merlyn had chanted while he, Eobard, and their associates had all held onto the spear. Then the weapon had started to glow, and then…and then…

_“B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…”_

Eobard had said earlier that he’d created a perfect world for himself, one that included Cisco. The man had enough money, power, and intelligence to change the word, but could he _literally_ reshape reality, too?

“Eobard, _please_ stop,” Cisco said, and his voice was a desperate whine. “Whatever you’re doing...I don’t _want_ to forget things. I don’t _want_ you to mess with my memories. Please!”

He may as well have been talking to the wall. Undaunted, Eobard carried on like Cisco wasn’t there: _“B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…”_

Cisco’s head was spinning, like he was underwater. Or in a room with a limited air supply. If he was going to do something, he only had a few seconds to do it. His eyes fell on Eobard’s desk, and he spied a rubber band.

When he was a kid, his mother had taught him to wear a ribbon, a piece string, a hair tie, or—yes—a rubber band on the wrist of his dominant hand when he didn’t want to forget to do something. The idea was that he’d think of the thing he had to remember every time he caught a glimpse of his hand. For an overactive child who was always getting distracted by various projects and ideas, the trick worked surprisingly well.

He’d stopped doing it when he realized that writing himself a note or setting an alarm on his phone was a more reliable way to recall important matters. But he didn’t have access to a pen and paper, and his phone was still on the floor on the other side of the house. And even if he’d had those items within his grasp, he wouldn’t have had time to use them.

So, while Eobard was staring off into space, repeating that strange spell over and over, Cisco grabbed the rubber band, slipped it onto his wrist, and covered it with his sleeve. And as wind roared in his ears and his vision began to blur, he thought to himself, _Remember that the details don’t add up! Remember that there are holes in your memory! Remember to trust your instincts! Remember, remember, remember—_

The world faded to white.

***

Cisco woke up on Friday morning feeling refreshed.

Years ago, he’d learned to appreciate the simple pleasure of waking up on his own steam rather than being pushed awake by an outside force. He opened his eyes slowly, reveling in the gentle softness of the bedsheets and the pleasant firmness of the mattress. Having all that space to himself felt downright decadent, and he was so, _so_ glad that his days of sleeping on crappy, second-hand mattresses and box springs were behind him.

Everything was going great until he pressed the side of his head back into his pillow and felt a dull ache surge through his skull.

Cisco winced, flinching away from the contact. Ugh, so that hadn’t been a dream; he really _had_ fallen down the stairs and busted his crown the day before. When he was a kid, it had been almost thrilling to stand up too quickly and get light-headed as a result, but now that he was an adult, he really had to be more careful.

It could have been worse, though. For example, if Hartley had been with him when he’d fallen instead of Brie, the guy probably would have just stood there rolling his eyes instead of getting help. Or maybe he would have been too busy interrogating Mick about Snart’s likes and dislikes to even notice that Cisco had gotten injured. After all, what was a little head trauma compared to Hartley’s ultimate goal of making Snart fall in love with him?

Speaking of love, he kinda hoped that Brie and Mick would exchange numbers at some point. Mick deserved to get some action, considering he’d sat with Cisco for nearly 40 minutes while he was unconscious just because Brie asked him to. Snart was definitely a jerk, but Mick was okay.

Once his head stopped thumping, he became aware of noises filtering in from a different part of the house. It sounded like the laughter and cheering of a studio audience—the sort of thing that was a staple of early morning talk shows. There was a TV in their kitchen that he and Eobard sometimes turned on while they were eating breakfast, and Cisco wondered if maybe his fiancé had accidentally left the device turned on when he went to work.

(He assumed that Eobard was at work, anyway. It seemed a little odd that he’d left without saying goodbye to Cisco, but perhaps he’d wanted to let him sleep?)

Cisco carefully got out of bed, retrieved his dressing gown from the back of the closet door, slipped it on, and made his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, the TV _was_ on, but to Cisco’s surprise, Eobard himself was there, too. He appeared to be halfway through his usual breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of oatmeal, and coffee. His head was bowed slightly as he reviewed something on his tablet, and Cisco couldn’t help but admire the way that the sunlight filtering in from a nearby window accentuated his blonde hair.

It only took a few seconds for Eobard to look up and notice Cisco. When he did, a smile broke out across his handsome face, and he turned off the TV. “Ah, you’re finally awake. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Honestly? Really good,” Cisco admitted. “Those sedatives that Caitlin gave me must have been what I needed, because I slept like a rock.”

“You definitely did. Not too far into _Ant-Man,_ I looked down and saw that you’d dozed off. I was worried I’d wake you up when I got out of bed to brush my teeth, but you barely moved. Same story when I got up this morning.” He paused. “Well, full disclosure: I got up at 3 a.m. to use the toilet, and you apparently woke up long enough to send me a suggestive text message. But by the time I was finished and came back, you were asleep again.” 

Cisco was startled. “What? You’re kidding.”

Eobard smirked. “Check your text log if you don’t believe me.”

Cisco pulled out his phone and looked. Sure enough, there was an outgoing message time-stamped from a few minutes after 3 a.m.:

_Come back to bed. I’m lonely. [Eggplant emoji] [tongue emoji] [winking face emoji]._

He burst out laughing. “Wow. Okay. Apparently, that medication makes me sleep-sext. I’m just glad I didn’t send anything to Caitlin or Ronnie, because that would be super awkward.”

“I’ll confiscate your phone before we go to bed tonight,” Eobard promised, chuckling. “I don’t want to deal with a Human Resources kerfuffle if you inadvertently send a picture of your penis to Hartley Rathaway.”

“Um, excuse you—the technical term for that is ‘dick pic,’ and Hartley would be _lucky_ to get one from me.” He shook his head. “Whatever. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Something was itching at him, though, and he decided to voice his concern: “So, not that I’m not happy to see you, but…shouldn’t you be at the labs right now? It’s Friday.” He could count on one hand the number of times Eobard had stayed home from work on a weekday without telling Cisco in advance.

Eobard smiled at him again. “I believe you called it ‘playing hooky’?” He put down his tablet. “I decided to take the day off so you wouldn’t have to stay home alone. I think that everything that happened yesterday gave me…perspective. Things won’t fall apart if I take a three-day weekend.”

“What about the fusion reactor project? I know how important it is to you.” In truth, he was absolutely touched that Eobard had decided to stay home with him, and it was all he could do to keep a goofy grin off of his face. At the same time, he felt a need to put up some kind of token resistance.

Eobard dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “Mr. Jackson will just have to crack the whip while I’m not there. Again, I trust that things will go smoothly in my absence. And if not, I’ll deal with it later. Are you hungry?”

“Not really, since I only woke up a minute ago,” Cisco replied. “But since I’m up, I should probably go ahead and eat something.”

“We’ve got cereal. Cold and hot, actually.”

“I think I’ll just do cold—”

Cold and hot. Heat and cold. The guns, his memories, the _truth…_

Suddenly, Cisco was laughing so hard that his sides ached and he had to lean on the table to avoid falling over. 

“What’s so funny?” Eobard asked. There was a tiny trace of anxiety in his voice; no doubt he was ready to call Dr. Snow and report that Cisco may have brain damage after all.

“I remember now!” Cisco crowed.

Eobard inhaled, still sounding anxious. “What…what do you remember?”

“I remember why I built the cold and heat guns!” Cisco said, still laughing. “It was to mess with Hartley!” He cocked his head at Eobard. “Jeez, what’s got you so nervous?” 

Eobard laughed, too, and his apprehension seemed to turn into relief. “Not nervous, darling. Just…confused. Are you saying you randomly remembered why you built the heat and cold guns? And _that’s_ why you’re so happy?”

“Yes! I was talking about comic books with Hartley, and he said that they’re stupid and unrealistic. He pointed out a character in a book who used a freeze gun and a character who used a heat gun, and Hartley said that I couldn’t convince him that something like that would work in real life.” He let out a whoop of laughter. “So I built the guns! Pulled an all-nighter just to show him up.”

Eobard grinned. “Now that you mention it…I think I remember now, too. Around 1 a.m., I begged you to come to bed, but you said that you didn’t want to lose your momentum.”

“And a few days later, when you were meeting with Mick and Snart in your office, I showed them the guns because I thought they’d appreciate them. And those two were so impressed that I gave them the prototypes.”

It was strange: the memory he’d been searching for all week was now in his head, clear as crystal. He could visualize Hartley’s scoff when Cisco told him he’d make the guns, Eobard’s concerned frown when he learned that Cisco really was planning to stay up all night, and Snart and Mick’s amazed chortles when he showed them what the guns could do.

_“You’re an idiot, Ramon.”_

_“I understand being on a roll, but sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to finish this project later?”_

_“Damn, Ramon, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” / “HOLY SHIT, THAT’S AWESOME!”_  

It all made complete sense now, and the feeling of relief that it brought was almost overwhelming. He wasn’t losing his mind, and he didn’t have holes in his memory. Once he got some rest, he’d probably be back to 100%, and life could continue on as normal. He could go back to work, he could hang out with his friends, and he could enjoy quality time with his fiancé mostly angst- and anxiety-free. 

With a newfound spring in his step, Cisco went about pouring himself a bowl of Big Easy O’s. Normally, the very sight of that “sugar-frosted sludge” made Eobard launch into a lecture about how unhealthy it was and ask Cisco why he insisted on eating it, but today, he simply looked at the box, winced, and then went back to his tablet without saying a word. The situation was so funny—and Cisco was in such a jovial mood—that he seriously considered pouring even _more_ sugar on his breakfast, just to see how much ridiculousness Eobard would tolerate. 

After preparing his cereal, Cisco sat down at the kitchen table to eat. He pulled up the sleeves of his dressing gown to get them out of the way, and he immediately noticed that there was something on his right wrist. Curious, he brought his hand closer to his face to get a better look.

It was a rubber band.

Eobard noticed. “What’s that?” he asked.

Cisco frowned. “Not sure. When I was a kid, I used to put rubber bands on my wrist when I was supposed to remember something.” He pinched the band between his thumb and forefinger. “Only problem with that trick is that it doesn’t tell you what, exactly, you’re supposed to remember. Just that there _was_ something.”

“Was it about the guns? Did you remember why you made them during the night?”

“Maybe?” He pursed his lips. “Could be anything, I guess.”

Eobard rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Cisco, we’ve got paper and pens all around the house. Why not write yourself a note?”

“Uh, because that would be _way_ too easy, dude!” Cisco said. He stared at the rubber band for a few more seconds, and then, sighing, plucked it off of his wrist. “Well, I’m stumped. So much for that trick.”

“I hope it wasn’t important,” Eobard said, looking back at his tablet and taking a sip of his coffee.

Cisco shrugged. “I already called a representative at the fennec fox rescue and told her that we were good to foster five or six of them. That was the one thing I really _needed_ to do by the end of the week.”

Eobard nearly choked on the liquid in his mouth. “You did _what_?!” he sputtered.

“Oh, my God! I’m kidding,” Cisco said, snorting at Eobard’s horrified expression. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack, old man. At least, not until _after_ we say ‘I do,’ and I become your legal next of kin, that is.”

“You laugh, but you really _are_ going to be the death of me, Cisco Ramon,” Eobard said with a wistful sigh. He put down his coffee mug. “Come here.”

They were already in the same room, so there was only one thing that _“come here”_ could mean. With a grin on his face, Cisco got up from his chair, walked over to where Eobard was sitting, and climbed into his lap. He settled himself so that his legs hung over one side of the chair and he was leaning back against Eobard’s outstretched arm.

“Hi,” Cisco said, batting his eyelashes. “You come here often, handsome?”

Eobard laughed. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then he stopped, shook his head, and simply wrapped Cisco up in his arms. It was the kind of hug that started out soft and gentle, but after a few seconds, he heaved a sigh and squeezed Cisco tighter, shutting his eyes as he did so.

Cisco knew hugs of that nature…specifically, the fact that they usually indicated some kind of sadness or anxiety on the part of the person giving them. He couldn’t help but be a little concerned for his fiancé. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching up to touch Eobard’s cheek.

Eobard opened his eyes and smiled at him. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…I’m happy you’re feeling better.” He kissed the side of Cisco’s neck. “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I would move heaven and earth for you a thousand times, my sweet boy.”

 _But you won’t buy me a fennec fox?_ Cisco thought, amused. He didn’t say it out loud, though, because he didn’t want to spoil the moment. So he focused on the feeling of Eobard’s lips on his skin and let out a sight of contentment. “I love you.”

“I love you more. I love you most of all.” He kissed him again, then relaxed his grip. “Hurry up and eat your breakfast.”

“What’s the rush? I thought we were staying home today.”

“We are. But the sooner you finish eating, the sooner you can brush your teeth. And take a bath.”

“Oh, wow,” Cisco laughed. He slid out of Eobard’s lap. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”

“Just being honest, darling.”

“Someday, we’ll sit down and have a conversation about how to be honest without being a dick. But _not_ while my cereal is getting soggy.”

***

After breakfast, Cisco did brush his teeth and take a bath. But that was as far as he got with his personal grooming. On his way to the dresser to grab clothes, Eobard walked up behind him, silently tugged away the towel he’d been wearing, and led Cisco to their bed. Once Cisco was laid out like a buffet spread, his belly pressed to the sheets and his back and bottom exposed to the air, Eobard climbed into bed with him and began running his hands over Cisco’s skin in a tender massage. They kept a jar of coconut oil in the bathroom that Cisco occasionally used on his hair, but Eobard had apparently smuggled it out while Cisco wasn’t paying attention and moved it to his nightstand to better facilitate this act of body worship.

The massage was just sensual enough to be invigorating. So, when Eobard slipped off his own clothes, Cisco didn’t continue to simply lie there. Instead, he maneuvered his way into his fiancé’s lap for the second time that day.

They’d never used coconut oil as lube before, but Cisco was the kind of guy who’d try anything once. And it worked well enough to create a smooth glide as Eobard slipped in and out of him, easily finding that little spot inside Cisco that made sparks dance across his vision. Cisco draped his arms snugly around the man’s neck and Eobard grabbed Cisco’s hips; together, they worked towards a shared oblivion.

“Mine,” Eobard murmured when a particularly hard thrust made Cisco whimper.

“ _Yours_ ,” Cisco agreed, whispering the word into his ear and then nipping at the lobe for emphasis.

That was the extent of their conversation until they were both finished and curled up together. Wet spots were rapidly cooling on the bedsheets (and on their skins), and Cisco found himself wondering if coconut oil stained silk. _Probably_ , he thought dully. He’d have to deal with that later, when his bones didn’t feel like they were made out of pudding.

The linens, however, seemed to be the last thing on Eobard’s mind. “Have you thought at all about where you want to go once the fusion reactor is finished?” he asked, stroking Cisco’s arm with his fingertips. “I promised you a vacation, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Not really,” Cisco admitted. He was worried that Eobard would think he wasn’t taking the idea seriously, so he added, “But…I’ve never been to Japan before, and I hear it’s a really neat place to visit.”

“It is,” Eobard said kindly. “We _would_ have to spend an afternoon at the S.T.A.R. Labs location in Osaka, but only because Kimiyo Hoshi would never forgive me if I came all the way over there and didn’t let her give me a tour of the facility.” He shifted his weight; Cisco heard the mattress creak. “Other than that, we’d be completely free to do what we want.”

“That’s fine,” Cisco replied. He’d met Dr. Hoshi once before, and while she seemed a little intense when it came to her work, she hadn’t given him a real reason to dislike her.

“Now, while we’re talking about vacation plans…maybe we should start thinking about honeymoon locations, too? I think _I_ would enjoy a tropical environment.” He nuzzled Cisco’s neck. “You know, somewhere sunny and warm and far away from prying eyes, where I could keep you naked.”

Cisco laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’d get burnt out if I was naked _all the time_. Too much of a good thing, ya know?”

“That’s extraordinarily unlikely. Absurd, even. Though, since we’re both men of science, we should probably test your hypothesis. Starting….now.”

Cisco was about to respond with a joke—maybe ask Eobard how he’d found a new “boner pill” supplier so quickly—but, as if on cue, he heard a buzzing sound coming from the direction of his nightstand. He glanced off to the side; his STARphone was currently receiving an incoming call. He shot his fiancé an apologetic look and wriggled out from under him, then grabbed the phone to check the caller ID. 

“If it’s someone from S.T.A.R. Labs, let it go to voicemail,” Eobard said. He sounded somewhat annoyed at the interruption.

Cisco swallowed. “Actually…it’s my mom,” he said, staring at the display. He felt his stomach curl up into a knot.

“Oh. Are you going to answer it?”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Cisco said with a sigh. “If she’s calling instead of just texting, it might actually be an emergency.” 

“Maybe.” Eobard backed away and laid down on his belly, folding his arms in front of him so he’d have a place to rest his chin. When he looked up at Cisco, his eyes were wary.

Cisco tore his gaze away and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Cisco, dear—it’s your mother,” Karina Ramon said on the other end. “Do you have a spare moment to talk? Are you on your lunch break right now?”

“Uh…yeah, I can talk,” Cisco said. Absentmindedly, he reached for the bedsheet and pulled it up to cover his lap. Then he felt stupid for doing so because it was _phone call_ ; she couldn’t actually see him. Just like she had no way of knowing that he wasn’t at S.T.A.R. Labs. “Only for a little while, though.”

“This won’t take long,” she replied briskly. “I just wanted to ask if you’re going to be at Dante’s party tomorrow night. You never replied to the text I sent you the other day.”

Dante’s party. Dante’s _goddamn_ party. Cisco had to resist the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he groaned. “Mama, no…I already explained to Dante that I have to work tomorrow. He said he was okay with me just taking him out for dinner and drinks next weekend.”

“But it’s his _birthday_!” she whined. “And the whole family will be there.”

“I know that, and I’m sorry. But I have a deadline I have to meet,” Cisco lied.

“You can get out of it,” Karina insisted. “You’re engaged to the man who owns the company. Tell him that it’s a family gathering and you can’t miss it.”

Cisco flinched. In any other situation, he would have been happy to hear her acknowledge Eobard as his fiancé. But this was a separate matter entirely. “That’s not…that’s not how it works. I have a whole department that I’m responsible for. And I don’t want for people to accuse Eobard of nepotism or think that maybe I’m not fit to be in charge after all.”

“If you were worried about that, you shouldn’t have started dating your boss,” Karina said. “You should have expected people to talk.”

“Mama—”

“You’re not bringing him, are you?” she asked. “Your father and I both agree that it would be better if he wasn’t at the party. We always wind up having to explain to everyone who he is and why he’s here, and it’s not fair to—”

“He’s not coming to the party because _I’m_ not coming to the party!” Cisco snapped. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t think about interrupting his mother, but he was so tired of dealing with this. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be there. Okay? Is that clear?”

Karina was silent. She seemed stunned that Cisco was finally, _finally_ standing up to her.

Cisco grunted. “Alright, was there anything else? I’m actually with Eobard right now. Yesterday, at work, I fell down and—”

 _“Francisco Ramon,”_ Karina said, and he could tell from her tone of voice that (1) she was about to start speaking Spanish, and (2) Cisco was officially in trouble, _“I really don’t care for your attitude right now. And I don’t know where it’s coming from, either.”_

 _“Yes, you wouldn’t,”_ Cisco said, before he could stop himself. He’d switched to Spanish, too, just out of reflex, even though he was pretty sure that she’d only pulled that move because she didn’t want Eobard to eavesdrop on their conversation.

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“It means that you don’t notice anything I do,”_ Cisco snapped. “ _You and Dad practically throw Dante a damn parade every time he blows his nose, but when I told you that S.T.A.R. Labs secured a $60 million contract with the Department of Defense because of body armor I designed, you just said, ‘That’s nice, son.’ Why do you even want me at Dante’s party, anyway? It’s not like you care.”_ He almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Sure, it was all stuff he’d been feeling for a long time, but he’d never before dared say to say any of it aloud. 

 _“Of course I care. Your father, Dante, and I—we all care about you very much,”_ Karina said. She sounded upset.

_“You’ve all got a crappy way of showing it. Look, like I said, I’m with Eobard right now. He took time off of work so that we could spend the day together. He’s a good man, and he takes good care of me. Not that you’d know, since you all refuse to have anything to do with him, either.”_

_“Francisco, I won’t be spoken to like this,”_ his mother snapped. _“I’ve obviously caught you in a foul mood. We can talk again when you’re ready to be polite.”_

 _“Yeah, or maybe we can talk again when you’re ready to not treat me like garbage. Whatever works.”_ He sighed. _“Look, Mom, I—”_

 _“That’s quite enough, Francisco. I’m hanging up now.”_ And then there was a beep and silence on her end to verify that she’d done exactly that.

Cisco sat frozen for a moment. It was taking some time for his brain to catch up with his ears. Between him and his mother, he wasn’t sure whose behavior was more shocking.

After a few seconds of silence, Eobard piped up: “Well, I don’t speak Spanish…but I’m guessing that that wasn’t a nice conversation?”

Cisco sighed. “No. It really wasn’t.” He set his phone back on the nightstand. “Long story short: I told her off for treating me—and, by extension, you—like crap, and she got pissed and hung up on me. Said we could talk more when I’m ready to be polite.” He laid down in bed. “And by that, she means when I’m ready to apologize and kiss everyone’s feet and promise to never, ever go against her will again.”

“I’m sorry,” Eobard said quietly.

Cisco exhaled. “It’s…okay.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I mean…it’s not okay that she’s like this, but…at least I stood up to her this time and told her how I really felt.”

“Yes, you definitely did. That took a lot of courage. I’m very proud of you.” He crawled over, closing the gap between them, and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind Cisco’s ear.

Cisco shivered, both at the man’s touch and his words. “Thanks. I…I think that maybe you were more right than I wanted to admit.”

“About what?”

“On Wednesday night, you said that I don’t have to put up with them treating my badly just because they’re my family. And I said that you didn’t get it. But now…I think that you’re right.” He brought his hand up on top of Eobard’s. “I mean, I don’t want to stop talking to them completely. But…I don’t have to care so much about what they think. I’m an adult; I have my own life…so I _don’t_ really need them.”

“No, you don’t.”

Cisco flopped down on his pillow, angling his head so he wouldn’t hit the bump. “What the heck was in those sedatives? I get a good night’s sleep, and boom! I’ve got clarity on, like, everything. I don’t think I’ve felt this ‘okay’ about all of my problems since I was a kid.”

“Hmmm…Fun with Brain Chemistry,” Eobard commented. He squeezed Cisco’s hand. “But, considering that my number one goal in life is to make you happy, I can say for certain that I like this new attitude.” He brought Cisco’s fingers up to his mouth so he could kiss his knuckles. “I like it very, very much.”

“You’re such a dork,” Cisco snorted. “But, hey, if you’re _that_ obsessed with making me happy, you could bring me something to eat.”

Eobard rolled his eyes, though there wasn’t any venom in it. “Fine. I think we’ve got sandwich ingredients in the fridge, so I’ll make us some lunch. But _you_ have to stay in bed. And when we’re done eating, I’m going to fuck you again.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Cisco replied, giving him a lazy thumbs up.

Eobard got out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown. After he tied the belt around his waist, he leaned over to Cisco. “Lips, please?”

Cisco giggled, turning away from him playfully. “You’ve been kissing me all day. Aren’t you tired of it?”

“No. I will never, _ever_ get tired of kissing you, my beautiful boy.”

“Hmmm…but maybe _I’m_ tired of kissing _you_?” Cisco teased.

Eobard let out a scandalized scoff, then suddenly grabbed Cisco’s chin with one hand, forcing his head up. Before Cisco could get away, Eobard dipped down, crashing their mouths together. It was a bit rougher and more sensual than their usual _“lips, please”_ smooches, but so were nearly all of their interactions when they weren’t both at work.

After he stood up straight, Eobard took in Cisco’s slightly dazed expression and quipped, “If you won’t _give_ me a kiss, then I guess I’ll just have to _take_ one.” He had a smug, almost Snart-like smile on his face, as if the idea of stealing kisses was truly exhilarating.

Cisco snorted again. “Like I said…you’re a dork.” He stretched out in the bed. “Don’t forget the spicy mustard on my sandwich.”

“Yes, _your majesty_.” Eobard turned around and walked away, his bare feet barely making any noise against the marble floor.

Cisco watched him go and then closed his eyes. His life certainly wasn’t “perfect.” And yet, it was good. Wonderful, in fact. He had friends who cared about him, a job he excelled at, and a fiancé who absolutely adored him. Really, his circumstances were better than he’d ever thought they would be. Definitely better than he’d ever thought he deserved.

Somewhere, deep down in his gut, Cisco felt a slight tug. It was a little bit of apprehension, the cause of which he couldn’t quite identify. But he opted to ignore it, and eventually, the feeling faded away into nothing. 

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who jumped down here for a more detailed trigger warning: Eobard doesn’t physically harm Cisco in this chapter, but there’s some arm-grabbing, blocking, and a point where Cisco thinks that Eobard is going to kill him via stabbing (and then possibly kill himself). If you want to skip that last part, it’s the paragraph that begins “In that moment, Cisco expected…” Just go directly to the next paragraph, and you should be fine.
> 
> Once again: this story depicts an abusive relationship. The author (thaaaaat’s me!) is NOT trying to portray what Eobard and Cisco have as healthy. As we saw in the previous installment of this series, Eobard sees himself as the hero of his own story who’s simply doing whatever is necessary to achieve the life he thinks he deserves—including changing Cisco “for the better” and messing with events behind the scenes to hide his own screw-ups. Cisco, the pop culture nerd he is, would probably see this as Eobard turning him into a Stepford Wife.
> 
> Now, this is the end of Cisco’s story, but it’s not the last installment in the “Life of Doom” series. I’ve already got bits and pieces of “Snart’s Wonderful Life of Doom” written, and the title alone should tell you who the main character of that story is! However, instead of being a sequel, it’s going to be a companion piece that runs parallel to the events of Thawne’s story and Cisco’s story. And, beyond that, I also have a few vignettes from Doomworld that I’ll probably compile into a single anthology fic. So, stay ‘tuned!
> 
> Final note: the I got the transcription of the Kalabros incantation—as well as the whole scene of the Legion using the Spear of Destiny—[from the Springfield! Springfield! website’s page for “The Fellowship of the Spear” (Legends S02E15)](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=dcs-legends-of-tomorrow-2016&episode=s02e15). I don’t speak Aramaic, so I have no idea how accurate it is. If someone out there DOES speak Aramaic and knows that I totally screwed it up, please feel free to let me know.
> 
> Well, that’s it for now! Thanks so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback give me life. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


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